


Beyond the Veil

by Pyreite



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Anger, Awakening, Bleeding, Consequences, Dark Fen'Harel (Dragon Age), Deals, Deception, Dreams and Nightmares, Eluvians (Dragon Age), F/M, Fade Spirits, Fear, Fitting In, Flirting, Forgotten Sanctuary, Future Fic, Grief/Mourning, Guards, Guides, Hiding, Implied Voyeurism, Jealousy, Lies, Loss, Magical Sleep, Meetings in the Fade, Nightmares, Petrified Qunari, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Qunari Statues, Rage, Revenge, Sentinel Elves - Freeform, Slow Burn, Somniari, Spears, Spirit of Courage, Spirit of Honesty, Spirits, Spying, Suicide Attempt, Temple of Sacred Ashes (Dragon Age), The Anchor, Trauma, Unintentional flirting, Wolves, cut, friendships, healing spells, magical connection, mortal injuries, the dread wolf - Freeform, the mark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:34:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27147413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyreite/pseuds/Pyreite
Summary: Two hundred years after the tearing of the Veil, Ellana is asked to help a friend.  She travels from Orlais to the Arbor Wilds where Solas has built a new city.  The path to freedom for all lies in the Vir Revasan, though perfection is far from what it seems.  After months of nightmares, her sleep constantly disturbed.  She knows something is wrong.  She may inadvertently save two lives, her own and that of her estranged beloved.  Whom no one has seen in a year.[WARNING: This story features a suicide attempt in Chapter 3 with a main character.  Discretion is advised when reading.]
Relationships: Abelas/Female Lavellan (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan/Solas, Fen'Harel | Solas/Female Lavellan, Fen'Harel/Female Lavellan (Dragon Age), Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 58





	1. The path to Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> Edited and updated.

Ellana hated the place. It sparkled in the sun like a jewel, its walls gleaming white. Its roof was a dome of frosted crystal, its floor so dark she could see her own reflection in the tiles. The marble had been polished to a high mirror-shine. She refused to go beyond the antechamber, slipping into the shadow of a pillar.

She waited there in that space between light and darkness. A harbour of safety for all rogues, regardless of their occupation. She preferred to be out of sight when it came to visiting the Vir Revasan. Spirits congregated here as readily as people. A startling change after the tearing of the Veil. She hadn’t cared for the war that’d followed, or the shift and change in Thedosian politics.

She wanted to stop the nightmares.

That was all that mattered.

She waited an hour, observing the ebb and flow of visitors. Dalish and city-elves from all corners of Thedas trickled through the huge oak doors. Adults brought children with them, others came in small groups, though some were alone. It was strange to see so many elves in one place with no humans among them. There were dwarves, the occasional horned giant, but not one templar to handle the slew of elven mages.

There were guardians instead. Pairs of statues in the shape of a wolf stood at each doorway. The largest flanked the entrance of the antechamber. The least the doors leading into the hall beyond. Each wolf lounged on a plinth like a cat, paws tucked close to lupine bodies.

Ellana was reminded of a mabari at rest, though the statues had two oddities. The heads were turned towards the observer, the ears always perked in alertness. The wolves had eyes too. Rubies the size of a hen’s egg lay beneath the arch of each granite brow. Each orb glowed a fiery-red when someone stepped into their line of sight bearing arms.

It was impossible to move when a paralysis glyph activated on the floor.

Ellana had seen plenty of would-be thieves brought up short by the scanning spells. It was a clever trick made all the more effective by a stalwart band of ancient elves. They travelled in packs, often patrolling the Vir Revasan day and night. They were easy to distinguish from modern Thedosians in their gilded armour. The antiquated mix of steel and leather fit their bodies with the snugness of a lady’s garter.

She’d never seen armour so tight, though she appreciated the view. The ancients might’ve been haughtier than an Orlesian noble, but they had great arses. Their stern faces bore the twining branches of the Dahl’amythal. A vallaslin they’d kept after the breaking of their chains of servitude to Mythal. The Vir Revasan was as much a home for them as it was a new beginning.

Ellana pressed her back against the pillar when one of their patrols came close. She heard the rattling of their armour as they crossed the antechamber. She was careful not to move least one of them catch sight of a distortion in the air. A tell-tale sign of a rogue in stealth. She breathed more easily when they passed between the statues then out the giant oak doors.

She didn’t want to be seen.

The Vir Revasan was too public. A place where certain elves would recognise her face at a glance. It’d been decades since the end of the war, though her fame had never faded. Thanks in part to the ambiguous talent of a mage with a penchant for painting. His frescos were as famous as she was, though few people remembered the woman behind the paint.

It was better that way.

Distance hadn’t diminished the depth of his feelings. She was uncertain about this clandestine meeting, but she'd taken worse risks. The medicine had worked for a time, though she’d long since developed a resistance. The herbs were less effective, even when mixed with lyrium. A dangerous combination that would’ve poisoned anyone without her magical aptitude.

He’d be furious if he ever found out.

If he woke up.

* * *

It was another hour before her contact left his usual token. A single wax coin in the shape of a flower. She found it atop a stone bench as if it were a button that’d slipped out of someone’s pocket. She knew better, palming the coin. She tucked it into her glove, careful not to let herself be seen or sensed as she moved through the antechamber.

It was a simple thing to leave as she passed between the stone sentries.

Neither statue noticed her slip away. Their ruby eyes were drawn to another, foolish enough to bring a weapon inside their sanctum. She smiled when she heard them howl in alarm, a beam of red light focusing on the culprit. An elf from Tevinter, a former magister’s lackey that’d spent much of their lives in the slave trade. She watched with visceral satisfaction when the paralysis glyph blazed to life.

They were pinned on the spot like a butterfly under a pane of glass.

The distraction was timely. She walked out of the antechamber's double oak doors into the street. The patrolling sentinel elves rushed passed, none noticing when she materialised. The tails of her cloak flapping in the wind. She turned away, smirking – a cowl pulled low to conceal her face.

She strolled through the crowd, amused by how many of them rushed by. The excitement of the commotion drawing their attention elsewhere. She walked the cobbled path, heading north through the manicured lawns. The gardens would be empty after her little sleight of hand game with the slaver. Her sense of revenge while petty often served a purpose.

He’d helped her avoid detection.

She’d slipped the sentinel elves’ nets often enough to know when to lay low. Today was no exception to every other day she’d used their base of operations as a cover. The poor saps stuck out like a sore thumb in that gilded steel-plate armour. She preferred muted greys, browns and nondescript greens. The boring colours of Orlesian servants were forgettable in a crowd.

It was safer to blend in.

The cobbles led her to a patch of lawn encircled by a ring of trees. The pines were tall, slender, and bristlier than a hedgehog. The thick needle-like leaves providing a natural screen from the sun, the wind, and prying eyes. The fragrance was pleasant too. A woody scent part-medicinal, part-reminder of roaming the wilds with her clan.

Her contact sat astride a stone bench, waiting in the shadow of the trees.

His clothes were patchy and drab. The brown of sand rolled and salted by the sea. He wore the same hat with a wide brim as he had during his days in the Inquisition. It sat like a snail in his head, never sliding left nor right. He smiled when he saw her, though his delight faded when he saw the cowl drawn low over her face.

“Why are you hiding from me?” he asked with a tinge of hurt in his voice. “We’re friends”.

She knew that he was up to something. He’d never once asked her to meet him in daylight when so many folk were around. She’d come only after the Red Jennies had passed on the message. Their red handkerchiefs easy to spot even in the seedy back alleys of Val Royeaux. She plucked the wax coin from her glove, tossing it to him.

The flower stamped into it was a symbol of her clan.

A six-petalled blossom in the shape of a star that grew on the barrows of the dead.

He snatched it out of the air then cradled it to his chest as if it were a treasure. He slipped it under the collar of his jacket into a hidden pocket. He’d never thrown any of them away. A fact that worried Ellana. His nostalgia would be her undoing.

“That depends”, she replied.

He didn’t like her tone. “On what?”

“On whether you’ve lied to me. I was under the impression that you were in trouble. Yet here you are hale and whole of limb with not a scratch on you. In daylight no less which isn’t the best time for a rogue to be skulking about. If I’m not here to smuggle you out of the city than why did you ask me to come?”

She was suspicious when he scowled. The blue eyes beneath his furrowed brows blazing like hot coals. He was angry. An unusual state of being for such a compassionate soul. He usually soothed hurts and erased memories. He didn’t get worked up over something he couldn’t change.

“Because you’re hurting and you won’t let me help!”

She knew then that he’d betrayed her. The stubborn shit. The ruse had worked too. She treasured what few friends she still had. Many of them were dead, though a handful had proven turncoats.

One in particular had broken her heart then torn her world to pieces. The arrogant bastard. She cursed when a glyph activated beneath her feet. The paralysis set in with an immediacy she found comical, pin and needles crawled up her legs. The curves and lines of magical entrapment glowed a ghoulish emerald-green.

“So”, said Cole without a hint of regret. “I found someone that could”.

Ellana swore when she heard the rustling of leaves. Figures emerged from the trees in that ridiculous formfitting armour. They were resplendent in gilded steel, their faces cowled like her own. All were armed with swords, shields, staves and bows. A smart move considering her reputation.

Only a fool fought a woman barehanded that’d slain dragons.

“The inevitable reveal”, remarked Ellana with dry sarcasm. “I see your friends have got the same tailor. I’d ask how much they charge, but considering they’re older than dirt. That tailor’s likely mouldering under several tonnes of rock. You could’ve done better, Cole. You outed me to the pricks that serve the arsehole that levelled Elvhenan".

"They can help!"

"Who?" she taunted. "They failed to save Mythal, then to stop her hound from destroying Arlathan. They barely survived the five thousand years they spent in Uthenera. They scraped through the Veil war by the skin of their teeth. That's a lot of faith to have in a bunch of reckless fools".

"But, Ellana!”

"I’ve had better luck on my own".

The sentinel elves grumbled until their leader silenced them with a look. He strode forth, grim and determined. He came within feet of her, knowing better than to dispel the paralysis glyph. The spell kept her rooted in place like a tree. He circled its curved edge, studying her for several moments.

“You should be paralysed, but you can speak”.

She snorted as if he’d said something amusing. “Notice that now did you? What a clever lad. I’d wondered if you arrogant prats ever used your ears. I know your boss didn’t when he dropped a floating library on twenty-thousand of his own people”.

He tensed like a drawn bowstring, the revelation startling him. “The fall of the Vir Dirthara happened thousands of years before you were born”. A cowl concealed his face, though he yanked it from the crown of his head. It pooled around his neck like a scarf, revealing a shaved scalp and a long silver braid. Eyes like molten gold regarded Ellana as if she were a miracle.

“How do you know of it?”

She closed her mouth, frowning. When she refused to provide an explanation, Cole offered insight. She glowered at him, annoyed that the paralysis glyph had frozen her hands. She could speak, but not move anything below her shoulders. It was infuriating to be unable to throw something at him.

“She dreamed of its fall”.

The sentinel considered the spirit that’d led to her capture. “Then she would indeed be somniari”.

“She is though she likes to deny it”, confirmed Cole. “The tearing of the Veil changed her more than it did everyone else. By touching Fen’Harel’s orb, she gained part of his magic. It burned inside her like a lantern for months. He severed her left arm at the elbow before it killed her, though its since grown back”.

Ellana didn’t like him spilling her secrets. “I thought we were friends”.

“We are”.

“We were”, she corrected. “Past tense”.

He sucked in a pained breath, biting his lip. “You don’t mean that”.

“Oh, yes I do. You knew I’d come if there was the slightest chance that you were in danger. I love you, Cole. You’re one of my dearest friends. But that doesn’t change the fact that you lied to lure me here”.

His face softened with concern. “You didn’t give me a choice”. He gestured to Abelas and the sentinel elves. “They can help. Let them try”.

“What if I don’t want their help?”

“You need it”.

She sniffed, lifting her nose in the air. “That’s for me to decide”. She turned to Abelas, noting that he’d been listening with an attentive ear. He hadn’t interrupted their argument. “Will you let me go?”

The sentinel inclined his head like a curious mabari. He countered her question with a statement of his own. “If you are akin to Fen’Harel than part of his magic resides within you. The connection is tenuous, but it might be enough to rouse him. What would you do if I asked for your help instead?”

Ellana’s eyes widened with incredulity. She was startled by the request, though she wasn’t about to agree. Her past dealings with an elf from ancient times had left her at a distinct disadvantage. The louse hadn’t been a bald hobo from some backwater village, but an elven god in mortal guise. A revelation that’d killed her libido and all thoughts of a romantic liaison.

She hadn’t trusted anyone enough to take them to bed since.

“I’d refuse out of spite. You lot have given me grief since the day I walked into Mythal’s temple. So if you don’t mind. I’d like to be on my way. If you’d dispel the paralysis glyph than I’ll leave your precious city”.

Cole appealed to Abelas in desperation. He knew what was at stake. “No! This isn’t right! You need to stop her!”

The sentinel proved reluctant. “I cannot make her do what she does not wish too. We will find another way”. He bowed his head to Ellana then waved his hand in the air. The glyph faded though the spell left a lingering ache in her limbs.

She sank down onto the ground with a groan. Her legs prickled with pins and needles as blood flowed back into her shins. She wiggled her toes inside her boots, then gave each of her calves a rub down. She hated paralysis glyphs. The spell was often set like a snare in one place then activated at need.

Abelas and his sentinels had known she was coming. Thanks to Cole though his scheme had backfired. He pouted when she rose to her feet, looking ashamed of himself. He pursed his lips, intending to say something when she turned away. She stamped her feet on the cobbled path out of frustration, relieved to be moving again.

She ignored Cole, the weight of his gaze accusing. She knew what he wanted, though she was loathe to forgive him. The scheme to lure her into the Arbor Wilds had left a sour taste in her mouth. She hated being manipulated. Of course Cole had tried to bring her back into the fold.

He was worried.

Abelas gestured to the cobbled path leading out of the gardens. She was free to go, though she hesitated to leave. He noticed how she glanced at the path though never once set her feet upon it. Her indecisiveness intrigued him. His comrades watched her with bated breath, hopeful that she’d reconsider.

It was agonising waiting for her to make up her mind. Their need was greater than she knew. Even if two souls were at risk. What did Ellana owe them? Fen’Harel had destroyed and reshaped her world into his own.

Tens of thousands had perished in the conflagration he’d ignited.

Thousands more had died in the war that’d come after the tearing of the Veil.

Abelas thought she would turn and walk away. He wondered what’d changed when she stayed instead. He stared when she told him something true. It was more a statement than a question as if she’d established its veracity. No one outside their ranks knew what’d happened yet somehow she did.

“It’s Solas”. Ellana tapped a gloved finger against her temple. “Something is wrong”.

Abelas understood. “You would know. You are after all a somniari”.

“By circumstance not by choice”.

“You touched a foci and survived. That much concentrated magic ripped open a rift into the world of spirits. You should have been killed in the explosion or possessed by a demon. Yet you emerged from the Fade unharmed, having lost but a handful of your memories. After that moment you were forever changed”.

“That’s a polite way to put it”.

He was curious now, glancing at the gloved length of her left arm. “Did Fen’Harel sever your hand?”

“To to elbow. Magical infections and all. The Anchor was killing me”.

“Prudent of him if painful. Yet I see that you have a forearm, a wrist and a hand. How is that possible?”

“Magic”, said Ellana as if that explained everything. “Don’t you have a somniari in your ranks?”

The subtle deflection was warning enough. Abelas took the hint not daring to delve any deeper. He needed her help. Further probing would likely result in her leaving. So he answered her question, sensing that it was safer to address the matter at hand.

“Only Felassan had Solas’ level of skill. He died well over two hundred years ago. Were he still alive than I would have sought his assistance. All the Elvhen can dream, but only a few can shape the Fade as he could. There is no one now of comparable ability among my people”.

“Are you sure?”

“I am”.

Ellana rolled her eyes. “First Solas gave his blasted foci to Corypheus. Then he tore down the Veil and waged a war that lasted a hundred years. If I have to spend another two centuries cleaning up after him. I'm turning in my daggers and becoming a cloistered Chantry sister”.

Abelas wasn’t sure how to respond. “You would join a convent to avoid him?”

“Gladly. He’s gorgeous, but crazier than a chantry full of nugs. No sane elven woman would want to share his bed, let alone be his wife. Unfortunately for me. He’s rather obsessive”.

“You are the love of his life”.

She shuddered, grimacing. “Don’t remind me. Ugh. My skin’s crawling as if I were in a pit full of spiders. Did you have to say it like that?”

“It is true”.

Ellana flapped her hand at him. “Let’s stick to the topic at hand. I’ll have fewer nightmares about it. You ought to know that I’m not an expert in that dreaming nonsense. I wasn’t born a mage, I became one after the tearing of the Veil”.

Abelas’ reply was soft. “You are somniari. It is a start”.

“You’re willing to stake his life on a novice? I’ve nowhere near Solas’ experience in traversing the Fade. Or his subtlety. If a spirit pokes me, I’ll poke it back with something sharp and pointy. You and your people could end up fighting a hoard of pissed off spirits”.

“You could try not to antagonise them”.

She snorted. “Or you could find another somniari”.

“There is no one else. If you need help and I need help. Is it not wisest to work together? By helping each other, we would be resolving our problems. It is therefore beneficial to us both to cooperate”.

“That’s a matter of perspective”, said Ellana. “I’d be taking all the risk”.

“That is true”, conceded Abelas. “The Fade is a dangerous place. Spirits are not easily pacified. Yet you are my only option. Will you at least consider lending me your aid?”

She hung her head, shoulders sagging. It was a good long while before she spoke again. Abelas stayed quiet, wondering if she’d come to a favourable conclusion. It was a relief when she groaned in annoyance then offered him a compromise. It was small, but welcome even if she hadn’t agreed to help them.

“I need to see him. Will you let me?”

Abelas beckoned with a wave of his hand. The sentinel elves left the trees, moving around the stone benches in the garden. This wouldn’t be a lazy afternoon spent reading in the shade. It would be a cautious approach to something more dangerous. Although Ellana wasn’t sure for whom when the sentinel elves took up positions around her.

She was caught inside a gilded net of armoured elves. Each taller than her by a head and a half and armed to the teeth. She felt their eyes boring into her back, the intensity of their mistrust palpable. They would scrutinise her every move for the slightest hint of treachery. If she turned on Solas, she would be gutted in an instant.

“I feel so loved”, she declared, her words dripping with sarcasm. “Are your people always this hospitable to your guests?”

Abelas snorted, shaking his head. She had a terrible sense of humour. “It would be ill advised to test them. They are loyal to Solas. If you care to keep your head than I would suggest that you refrain from trying to kill him”.

She pouted. “Spoilsport. Fine, babae. I’ll be on my best behaviour”.

“I am not your father”.

“You sound like him. He never tired of lecturing me”.

Abelas blushed, a tad flustered. “Garas ma”. He turned away, taking the lead. Ellana smirked as she followed him, admiring the view. He had a great arse.

The rest of the sentinel elves followed, some exchanging knowing smiles.

She wasn’t the first Thedosian to appreciate their finest attribute from behind.


	2. Across the Bridge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited. First draft.

She’d expected to be led into the heart of the city. The sentinel elves took a detour through the gardens instead. She was shepherded like a stray sheep cut from the flock through a course of gates and fences. Their passage screened by a belt of pines planted close together in long straight lines. The avenue of trees continued down a cobbled path that led to a dead end.

The first gate was a stone archway housing a pane of black glass.

“So it begins”, said Ellana. “Would you prefer that I’m visible or in stealth?”

Abelas didn’t intend to let her loose amidst his people. The way ahead was a private space, set aside for their own kind. No modern Thedosian had ever set foot there. It was a place for the Elvhen, not their descendants born thousands of years after the Fall of Elvhenan. Her presence would cause a stir.

“No. It is best that you are seen. I will not have you skulking about in the shadows like a mouse. My people are leery of your folk as it is. They are tolerated in the halls of the Vir Revasan out of necessity”.

“But not at home?”

He gave her a stern look. “You will be the first invited into our domain. You are being taken there for one purpose. Do not forget it. What comes after will depend on you”.

“That’s fair”.

He gestured to the cowl upon her head. “You must reveal your face. I will not take you a step farther cloaked like a thief. If you are to walk among us. You will do so as you are not as who you pretend to be”.

“If I refuse?” countered Ellana.

“Then you are free to go”.

She was quiet for several moments, though she didn’t once try to leave them. Curiosity had won out over her sense of caution. Abelas waited for her to make a decision. He knew it hadn’t come easy. She was hesitant at first, he read the reluctance in the shakiness of her gloved hands.

Yet she reached inside her hood, her fingers hooking on the edge of a mask. She pulled it down first, then grasped the edge of her cowl. The darkness receded from her face, till she was bare to the light. She’d changed in the years since her first visit to the Temple of Mythal. Abelas didn't recognise her.

That woman had been a shadow wearing vallaslin. Her face cherubic with the innocence of youth. Her skin smooth and unblemished. Her eyes full of hope tinged with an earnestness to rediscover what her people had lost. The Dalish had preserved what little of Elvhenan had remained after the raising of the Veil. Their stories, rituals and songs were a pale imitation of what’d existed in the days of Arlathan.

The passage of the past two hundred years had taken its toll on Ellana.

Her face was scarred. A jagged line cut through her right brow down to her cheek. It ended an inch above the corner of her mouth. It was deep and healed, though a distinct shade darker than her skin. She was bronzed as if she’d spent her life in the sun, though Abelas suspected her parents had hailed from Rivain.

She was Solas’ opposite.

Shorter, darker, and far from perfect. There were smaller nicks on her chin. The line of another scar cut from her left ear down to her jaw. Her eyes were the fathomless green of trees in the forest that grew for miles in all directions. A living, breathing jade carpet that undulated like water in a steady breeze.

She was Dalish, a child of the wilds.

Abelas saw that fierceness in her gaze, though there was a hardness too. It was as if time had ground away her youthful naivety. She'd suffered, survived and adapted to a monumental change that'd driven many insane. Not all elves had lived through the tearing of the Veil. Fewer still had embraced Thedas' magical resurgence, though today it was normality.

The generations born in the last century had grown up in the presence of spirits. Though none had been born somniari. That Abelas knew with certainty, none had sought Solas’ tutelage since Felassan's death. His murder was a mark against the Dread Wolf, for whom all paths in and out of the Fade were as clear as day. Abelas wondered if Ellana was an extraordinary exception to her people and his own.

He stared at the crown of her head. Her hair had once been short, shaggy and considerably darker. Her locks were now paler than the lightest blonde, with an attractive pearlescence. Each strand not quite white or silver, but somewhere in between. Reminded of the underside of a seashell, Abelas thought it was beautiful.

He reached out to touch but froze when Ellana flinched. She turned her face away, the shining length of her hair falling across her shoulder. A braid as thick as her wrist escaped her cowl. The tufted end, bound by a black cord smacked against her thigh. She was self-conscious of her appearance, shying like a skittish horse.

"Your hair".

"I know", she acknowledged, grimacing as if it were an eyesore. "It's a constant reminder of what I've lost. Don't dwell on it. I try not to even if I don't always recognise myself in a mirror. I'd prefer not to talk about it".

Abelas wasn't that easily put off. "It was once blood-red".

Ellana was discomforted by his curiosity. "It was until the tearing of the Veil. I changed. That is all you need to know. Can we leave?"

His gauntleted hand dropped like a stone. "At once. I am satisfied, though many of my people will see you as one of us. No Dalish or city-elf has hair like liquid silver. It is a rarity even among the Elvhen".

Her eyes narrowed. She glanced from his face to the silver hair upon his head. It was long and braided into a thick rope that cascaded down his back. The similarity in colour and style was far from reassuring. She didn't want to be like Abelas or the Elvhen after everything she'd lived through.

"We're not the same".

He returned her scrutiny, arching a silver brow. "How do you know?"

She didn't answer, the line of her jaw tensing. It wasn’t a matter of ignorance. She’d seen and experienced more of their world than any Dalish elf. Her dreams of Elvhenan before and after the Fall had been wondrous and tragic. The loss of so much magnificence, of so much power and memory had brought her to tears.

She’d seen what the Elvhen had once been. Now they were rebuilding what was with what could be. Though it was a kingdom built on the bones of her people. It was something she’d never forget or forgive. A future that’d come at too high a price.

“You said as much when we first met in the Temple of Mythal”, she replied, her tone frigid. “Or don’t you recall your own words? Let me remind you. Solas said the same to me once too”. She leaned forward, lifting her nose in the air.

She looked down at him as if he were nothing.

“You are not my people”.

Abelas swallowed the bitter pill of his own pride. He backed away, paling when Ellana’s lip curled in disdain. There was a tinge of something dark and flinty in her eyes. It had the hardness of adamant, the permanence of stone. She wouldn’t bend unless she broke, shattering into a thousand pieces.

“You are more like Solas than you know”.

She snorted. “Is that what you tell all the girls?”

He reddened at her wittiness. Solas was much the same. His tongue silvered and barbed whenever he sought to flatter or sting with a word. It perturbed him to think that Ellana had picked up a few of his less endearing habits. He wondered if she was even conscious of her own behaviour changing in the subtlest of ways.

Had Solas’ influence been stronger than she’d realised?

“Only you”, said Abelas. He caught sight of Cole lurking in the trees behind them. His watery-blue eyes glowing like embers in the shadows under the boughs. Abelas neither acknowledged nor invited him along. He turned away, waving a hand across the Eluvian’s black glass.

A phrase in elvish brought it to life.

The glass turned from black to silver-white. Its surface reflected a hall leading to a set of stone steps. Abelas moved forward, stepping through without once looking back. Ellana followed as did her company of sentinel elves. They entered the mirror, one after another- leaving Cole behind.

He tried to follow.

The Eluvian closed when he approached. The brightness fading in the blink of an eye. He glared at his own face reflected in that black glass. He was tall, thin and pale. A spirit of compassion haunted by his inability to help a friend. The way forward was closed.

He’d done what he could.

The rest was up to Ellana.

* * *

She emerged from the Eluvian into a wide hall that led up a staircase. Abelas climbed the steps, expecting her to follow. She hesitated until one of her escorts pushed her shoulder. She got moving when he prodded her a second time. She followed Abelas, wary when he reached the top of the stairs.

She stumbled on the topmost step, distracted when she felt something odd. She ran into his back, eyes on her left hand. He whirled on the balls of his feet, thinking himself attacked. He gaped when Ellana gave her hand a vigorous shake. She grimaced, brows furrowing as if it were painful.

“It hurts?” asked Abelas.

“It’s nothing”, she replied, brushing off his concern. “I’m fine”. She paused when he frowned, gilded arms folding across his chest. He gave her a stern look not in the least amused by her excuses. “What?”

“I know you are lying. Solas does it poorly when he feels ill too”.

Ellana’s lip curled when she heard the sentinel elves snicker. “Are we really going to have this conversation?”

“Yes”.

She capitulated with a sigh. “Fine. It stings a little. All right? It happens from time to time when the Anchor’s magic flares up”.

“I see”.

Abelas turned away, golden eyes roving left and right. He didn’t want Ellana to see his consternation. He resumed walking, disquieted. Solas had never said anything about her retaining the Anchor’s magic. He'd severed her left hand to save her life, though something hadn’t gone to plan.

Abelas reflected on the conversations he’d had with Solas about the Orb of Fen’Harel. The foci abandoned for five thousand years had absorbed enough magic to level a mountain. A Dalish rogue with not a drop of magical talent had unlocked it. Something Solas himself had been unable to do. The event had taken place two hundred years ago.

The explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes was part of Chantry history. Their scholars still sang of the Breach, Corypheus and the Herald of Andraste. A woman called Lavellan that still walked the lands of Thedas, her given name long forgotten. The shemlen had short lives and shorter memories. It was a miracle they hadn’t tried to pass her off as human.

Inquisitor Ameridan hadn’t been as fortunate.

Abelas quickened his pace, leading Ellana out of an archway and into the light. She followed without a fuss to his relief. Any questions would be awkward. She likely had suspicions of her own, though she kept them to herself. He felt the weight of her scrutiny, certain that her gaze was fixed on the pauldrons upon his shoulders.

She paused on the landing, gaping when she saw rolling green hills. A fortress stood on an island in the middle of a lake far below. A tower was on the horizon, a lone sentry thrusting towards the sky like a spear. The sun was high, a golden disc floating amidst the clouds on a sea of blue. It was after midday, though early in the afternoon.

“I know this place”, said Ellana. “I followed Solas here before the Exalted Council”.

She walked down the stone steps, passing Abelas when she spied the petrified Qunari. One lay in broken pieces on the cobbled path. A statue that’d fallen over, shattering into bits of arms, hands, legs and torso. She swallowed when she saw its masked head several feet away, tucked against the railing. It’d been years since she’d walked this path, though she recognised every part of it.

An Eluvian lay before them, its glass blackened and inactive.

Before that were more Qunari preserved in imperishable stone. Each tall, bulky and muscular poised to strike with weapons drawn. She walked among them, raising her hand to touch the nearest statue’s face. She cupped an angular cheek, gloved fingers trailing over temples hard as granite. She explored further, running her thumb along a horn that curved up and over the crown of a bald head.

“The Viddasala’s men”.

“Yes”, affirmed Abelas. “They once pursued Solas”.

“So he petrified them”, finished Ellana. “The poor bastards didn’t stand a chance”.

She stepped forward, looking up into a horned giant’s face. She was reminded of the Iron Bull when she saw glaring eyes beneath furrowed brows. An aquiline nose was wrinkled in outrage. Thin lips were peeled back from sharp canines in a ferocious snarl. An axe held aloft by stone fingers would’ve cleaved her in two were he still alive.

“Ir abelas. The Viddasala was a fool to stand against Solas, but you paid the price for her bravado”.

She touched the Qunari’s cheek, knowing that he couldn’t hear her. She turned a moment later, moving towards the second petrified Qunari. She whispered an apology, running her fingers over another cold grey cheek. She continued onward, approaching the third and final statue. She touched the corner of a masked face with reverence, speaking an epitaph in Qunlat.

“Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun”.

She stepped back pressing her hands together, she bowed her head to them.

“Panahedan”.

There was a shift and change in the wind. A chill breeze swept up the valley until it spiralled around Ellana, rustling her hair. Then it was as if a hand had picked up her braid then wound it with care about her shoulders. Something murmured in a language foreign to the sentinel elves. Abelas and his brethren heard a name spoken with heartfelt affection.

Then the wind died down, the chill dissipating as if it’d never been there.

Abelas approached Ellana, his skin prickling with unease. He sensed a disturbance in the Fade, the lingering scent of magic in the air. She’d conversed with spirits, a thing Solas had done often too. Although he hadn’t seen anyone, he knew what’d happened when he saw her face. Beads of moisture glistened in her lashes.

A tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away, refusing to weep in front of him. Abelas saw the raw grief on her face until she schooled her expression. The sorrow disappeared behind a wall of composure. She was calm and serious again, though there was something odd.

Her silvered hair was shot through with lines of red. It wove through her braid like blood in water. It was pretty if permanent, the return of a small piece of herself that she’d thought forever lost. The moment while profound had made her cry. Abelas was perturbed by how easily she locked her heart away.

He studied her for a moment, then asked a question. “What did you see?”

“Nothing”, replied Ellana though Abelas knew she’d lied. “We should go. I’ve unpleasant memories of this place. I’d rather not linger. Lead me onwards and we’ll arrive at our destination sooner than later”.

He was irritated by her obstinacy. She was as secretive as Solas, even if there was proof to counter her deception. She gestured to the Eluvian ahead of them, its glass dark and inactive. Abelas turned away with a frustrated shake of his head. He approached the Eluvian, spitting the passphrase with unexpected venom.

It came to life in a flash of silver, reflecting the bridge before the fortress in the middle of the lake. He wanted to ask Ellana about the name he’d heard, though he doubted she’d cooperate. He decided then to find out for himself. The language she’d spoken wasn’t the common-tongue or elvish. He’d heard phrases of it spoken by the city-elves from Kirkwall in the Free Marches.

A place once invaded by the Qunari in search of a holy relic.

A tome written by their prophet Koslun.

Abelas remembered the name he’d heard the wind whisper. It was not one, but two words in that strange foreign tongue. The first sounded more like a term of respect, the second an endearment. He wondered of what significance someone called _Basalit-an_ had to the Qunari. He was even more intrigued by what importance someone called _Kadan_ had too.

He walked through the Eluvian, expecting Ellana to follow. He was reassured when he heard her answering footfalls. The rest of his band were soon on the move too. Each sentinel glancing at the red streaks in Ellana’s hair. They’d heard the words in the wind and wondered if her appearance at the Vir Revasan was a harbinger of change.

* * *

Ellana emerged from the third Eluvian before another staircase. This place was familiar too. She climbed the steps after Abelas, the sentinel elves following. She reached the landing, turning left to face the bridge that led to the fortress. She looked around, knowing they were in the centre of the valley.

A river flowed around them, its shimmering waters dark beneath the sky.

The pedestal with the brass statue of a howling wolf was still there. She hadn’t advanced more than two steps when Abelas raised a gauntleted hand. She paused with sudden wariness when she spied a band of sentinel elves. They wore the same gilded armour, though many had their cowls down about their shoulders. Their faces contorted in confusion when they saw her under guard.

A tall sentinel with red hair approached Abelas, barking questions in elvish. Ellana understood most of what was said, though some of it was incomprehensible. Many of their words weren’t Dalish elvish or spoken in the Fereldan clan dialects. She heard her name then saw Abelas point a gauntleted finger behind him. The most outspoken of the sentinels grimaced as if he’d swallowed something sour.

He was even less pleased when Abelas beckoned.

Ellana hesitated when she saw that these elves were armed too. Several had bows, others swords and shields, while a handful had long gilded spears. She didn’t fancy being spitted on one like a boar. She was prodded in the shoulder again, this time with greater gentleness. That same sentinel urged her forwards.

“Tel’enfenim. Abelas ghilana ma Fen’Harel”.

She nodded, exhaling a wary breath. She didn’t trust Abelas any more than his comrades. Their attitudes towards modern elves somewhat prejudiced. Wars had been started over less. She didn’t doubt that her presence was unwelcome.

They were miles away from civilisation. If she died out here no one would come to the rescue. She was on her own. The thought brought little comfort as she crossed the landing. The sentinel elves at the bridge unsure if she was a guest or a prisoner.

Abelas flapped an impatient hand at them. They moved aside albeit with great reluctance. Ellana was subjected to their scrutiny when Abelas led her down to the bridge. The heels of her boots clipped the stone steps as she passed between them. Her escorts followed, staying in formation as she was marched across the bridge.

She had crossed it long ago with Bull, Dorian and Cassandra.

Their goal to intercept the Viddasala before she took Solas’ head. The plan had fallen to pieces over the length over their journey. Each skirmish with the Qunari more violent than the last. The clues scattered from the Deep Roads to the fortress had proved Solas’ undoing. He’d gone from being an apostate to the rebel god of the elven pantheon.

The revelation had devastated Ellana.

She was wary when they came within yards of the fortress. It was as tall, grey and imposing as a mountain, its grandeur no less than the Temple of Mythal. It had gargantuan windows, wide arches and slender pointed towers. A marvel of ancient architecture it was all straight lines and symmetry. A place of order in a sea of chaos, something that'd stood for thousands of years.

It was likely one of the few ancient elven structures still standing.

Ellana felt like an ant in the midst of a beehive. Minuscule, aberrant and unwelcome. They stopped yards from the entrance. More sentinel elves converged on them from all parts of the fortress. Some stormed out of the vaulted archways, while others walked along the banks of the lake.

She was grateful for the reprieve, when the Anchor flared up again. Abelas argued with the sentinels guarding the fortress, trying to justify her presence. She grimaced enduring the magical burn, until it lessened to a tolerable ache. Pinpricks of pain shot from the hinge of her elbow to the tips of her fingers. She gripped her left hand, muttering a spell to deaden her nerves.

A numbing blanket of magic cooled the worst of it. The ice-spell left a dusting of frost on her glove. She groaned in relief, tensing when she didn’t hear raised voices. She glanced about herself, noticing how the sentinel elves stared. Her eyes widened when she spied flashes of green in gilded steel.

Her face was reflected in a sentinel’s glossy breastplate. She walked to the rail of the bridge, leaning over it to peer into the lake below. She saw her reflection in the water, her eyes alight with emerald fire. Magic rolled off her in tongues of flame, forming a ghoulish corona around the crown of her head. She sighed as she gazed out across the lake.

She heard someone bolt, the thud of their heels retreating into the distance. She doubted that they'd run out of fear. Abelas rejoined her on the bridge, frowning when she refused to acknowledge him. He neither touched her nor asked a question. The answer blazed in her eyes like twin lanterns of veilfire.

"You carry the magic of Solas’ foci”.

Ellana's reply was gruff. "Not by choice".

"No", he agreed. "Have you tried to dispel it?"

"It returns no matter what I do".

The news astounded him. "Always?"

"Always", she reiterated. "There were dire consequences when I destroyed Solas' foci. I almost paid the price with my life, though it cost me a hand. I thought it would end there, but I was wrong. Everything changed after Solas tore down the Veil".

"How?"

"The Anchor reawakened. Spirits returned to Thedas. I found myself able to conjure fire, ice, and lightning without any formal training. I didn't go mad like some mages, nor lose control of my emergent magic in a disastrous fashion. Spirits didn't turn into demons around me, nor did I ever face the threat of possession".

Abelas understood. "That could be due to Solas' influence".

"I've never been able to confirm it".

"You will now. I have sent a runner to prepare. Our healers will be present. You will not be left alone with him. I will remain as well, along with a contingent of my brethren".

"Wise of you", commended Ellana. “I despise him”.

“You are not the first, nor will you be the last. Come. It is time for us to face him again”.

“Us?”

“I have not been here in months”.

“Why?”

“I was searching for you”.

He didn’t explain though to Ellana the answer was obvious. If Solas had been in trouble than as the only other somniari in Orlais. Abelas had sought her out to help him. She wondered if he considered his search successful when he turned on his heel. He strode in an unerring line for the fortress.

Her escort regrouped, several new sentinels bolstering their ranks. They moved when she did, surrounding her in a gilded net of armed soldiers. Each ever-watchful and near enough to kill her with a spell, the thrust of a spear or the down-stroke of a sword. She was at their mercy, though their preparedness didn’t worry Ellana. She was more concerned about reuniting with Solas, whom she hadn’t seen in a hundred years.

Abelas led his band into the heart of their sanctuary.


	3. Into the Wolf's den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter features a suicide attempt scene near the end with a main character. Discretion is advised when reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited. First draft.

She passed gaping sentries and spirits. Abelas waved his folk aside, barking orders when they tried to impede him. Most scrambled out of his way, though some joined them. Ellana hated their insatiable curiosity. She preferred a rogue’s anonymity to being the centre of attention.

She liked to blend in, to be a face in the crowd. She couldn’t do that in Solas’ forgotten sanctuary. Every resident was a sentinel elf in gilded armour, wearing the vallaslin of Mythal. She stuck out like a firefly in a field of grass at night. Too bright to disappear amidst the gilded pillars, mosaics and tiled floors.

Too recognisable not to be the estranged beloved of their liberator. Where she expected to see statues of Mythal, there were effigies of her instead. An elven woman on a marble plinth grasped the pommel of a sword. The blade upon her legs had its pointed tip between her ankles like a Chasind relic. The eye of the Inquisition was engraved upon the hilt.

Its lashes like rays of sunlight.

The discovery perturbed Ellana. Solas’ people gaped when they saw her, some paling while others gasped. Her appearance was sudden and unexpected. Her escort grew larger the further they went, with more sentinels joining Abelas’ band. They observed but never touched her, though she heard their excited whispers.

It was even stranger when they reached the end of that long hall.

A staircase led to a raised dais, though it was the walls that drew Ellana’s eye. The stone had been plastered over then painted in a familiar style. She saw not scenes from ancient Arlathan, or images of Solas freeing elven slaves. But an elven woman with blood-red hair, drawing a bow with two hands. One gloved, the other bare, silver and mechanical.

A marvel of dwarven and magical engineering.

Ellana felt even more self-conscious when Abelas climbed the stairs. Much of their escort broke off there, milling about as she followed him. A group of healers met them on the landing. They greeted Abelas in relief, one of their number grasping his hand. He wore long robes bare of decoration in muted browns and greens.

His sandy-brown hair was worn long and braided in the fashion of the sentinel elves. His hazel eyes were weary and worried, though he’d brightened after Abelas had returned. Ellana waited, the magic of the Anchor burning in her irises. What should've frightened the healer made him smile. He recognised her in an instant.

“Inquisitor Lavellan”.

She knew him too.

“Loranil”.

His smile wobbled. His eyes glistened with unshed tears. “It’s been too long. You’ve no idea what it means to see you again. I’d hug you, but we’ve more pressing matters than a reunion of friends”.

“Solas”, finished Ellana.

“Yes”.

She was ushered up more stairs then taken to the plinth of a second statue. A gigantic stone wolf, its eyes aglow with emerald fire guarded another staircase. This one leading down into the bowels of the fortress. Loranil and their healers descended first. Abelas asked a question before he dared to follow them.

“Will you see him?”

Her response was a challenge and an accusation. “I’m leaking enough magic to sink a ship. You’re taking a risk by letting me inside your sanctuary. Aren’t you afraid I’ll blow it up like Corypheus did the Temple of Sacred Ashes? It would be a poetic end for Solas, you, and the entirety of your people”.

Abelas gave her a pointed look. “If that were true. We would already be dead”.

Ellana shrugged. “I was distracted by a gorgeous arse in gilded leather. Can you blame me for appreciating the view?”

He blushed, cursing and stormed off. He followed Loranil as if a fire had been lit under his backside. He descended the steps, taking them two at a time. He disappeared from view like a rabbit bolting into a burrow. Ellana followed him though with greater dignity at a more sedate pace.

She passed the armoury, then turned a corner that led her down into the dungeon. There were no cells or iron bars, but a large communal living area. Giant doors walled off large alcoves, some open wide enough to reveal wooden posts. She saw bunks stacked one atop another, though the bed-frames were beautifully carved. The mattresses were thick, the blankets a mixture of pelts and brocade fabrics.

It was a far cry from Qunari utilitarianism.

In two hundred years it'd been transformed. Where there’d been dust, webs and weapon racks. There were shelves full of books, bottles and jars against the walls. The ancient long tables once covered in suits of armour, were dining areas. There were wooden benches beneath each one, and under those handwoven rugs on the floor.

The dungeon looked homely and lived in.

There were circular couches around its arched pillars. Each covered in thick cushions and soft silky fabric. Perfect seating areas for the library she saw on the shelves. There were more tables, and chairs under the bookcases too. Even private niches where someone could study or read at their leisure.

It was reminiscent of the library that’d once existed in Skyhold.

The utter mundanity of Solas’ retreat unsettled Ellana. She knew him as a tyrant not a man with unselfish goals. He’d sought to better the lives of his people, though the cost had been high. Thousands had died from all races in Thedas. The elves weren’t the only people that’d buried their dead.

“Ellana”.

She recoiled at the sound of her name, shying like a startled halla. The lightest of touches alarmed her so much that she spun nimble as a dancer. The tails of her cloak flapped as she loosed a brace of throwing knifes. Each flung from her fingertips, though she carried not a single blade. She disappeared in a flash of violet, tackling the person who’d touched her to the ground.

She sat astride their belly, knees tucked into the cleft of their hips.

Another conjured blade dug into their jugular. Gauntleted hands grasped her hips, a long silver braid coiled about her knees like a snake. She dispelled the blade, frowning when she spied Abelas beneath her. She blinked at him, perplexed until she felt the bite of steel against her neck. She exhaled wearily, shoulders sagging.

The sentinel elves had drawn their weapons.

Abelas arched a silver brow, nodding to the violet blades suspended in the air above him. Each crackled with blue-white fire. He didn’t doubt that he would've been impaled. The magic while crude was effective enough to make him envious. Few of the Elvhen still living were arcane warriors capable of conjuring blades.

Fewer still could shape the Fade into usable weapons.

“So that is why you were never detected by the sentry statues in the Vir Revasan”.

Ellana shrugged her shoulders, refusing to offer an explanation. She arched a brow, appraising him with a discerning eye. Her regard made Abelas’ skin crawl with apprehension. The way she smiled put a chill down his spine. He was uneasy when she dispelled the conjured blades with a flick of her fingers.

“So I’m caught between you and your sentinels. One of whom is ready to carve my head from my shoulders. You took me by surprise. It’s not wise to touch a rogue in distress, especially someone as hotheaded as I am. Saying that I’ve been given a unique opportunity”.

“Do not!” ordered Abelas.

“As they say in Fereldan”, she teased. “In for a silver, in for a sovereign”.

She fell on him with a giggle, cupping his face between her gloved palms. She covered his mouth with her own, horrifying the sentinel elves around them. The nearest that’d brandished a sword against her neck gawped like a fool. He didn’t know what to do with himself when Abelas moaned. The leader of their band, assaulted by passionate kisses didn't protest.

He was enjoying himself.

The smacking of lips carried on for several awkward moments. Abelas’ gauntleted fingers dug into Ellana’s back. The sentinel elves exchanged flustered looks. The threat neutralised with such spontaneity made them nervous. Unfortunately the kiss didn’t end until they sheathed their weapons.

The click of their blades, axes, spears and staves being harnessed was music to Ellana.

She broke the liplock with Abelas, leaving him a gasping mess on the floor. He flushed scarlet when she kissed the corner of his mouth. She winked at him, smirking when his hands slipped from her back. She rolled onto her knees, untangling herself from him with the deftness of a rogue. She was soon on her feet, a twinkle in her eye when she faced the sentinel elves.

She licked her lips, winking at them.

“He tastes as delicious as he looks”.

She strolled between them with the satisfaction of a cat that’d caught the canary. She slung an arm around the shoulder of the sentinel that’d intended to lop her head off. He reddened when she kissed his cheek. She patted him on the shoulder as if he’d done a good job. He was dumbstruck by her approval.

He stared when she walked off to meet Loranil and their healers. The Dalish elf was grinning from ear-to-ear as if he’d seen something amusing. He spoke to her in hushed tones, telling her about Solas’ condition. The sentinel elves surrounded Abelas, two slipped their arms under his shoulders. They heaved him up, trying not to gawk at his red cheeks.

He shrugged off their hands, straightening his hair and armour.

He tried to regain some of his dignity, though Ellana had done a thorough job of embarrassing him. He was again reminded of Solas in his younger years. He’d been brash and impulsive, often acting in the spur of the moment. He’d had admirers aplenty in Arlathan. His bed often filled with nubile maidens, grieving dowagers and adventurous couples.

His hedonism had been legendary until Mythal had him leashed. She’d demanded a sense of propriety from her hound. It’d taken him years to cease hoping about like a flea. Abelas was astonished that in his promiscuity, he hadn’t sired several litters. He was also unsurprised that Solas had fallen for Ellana like a boulder in a pool of water.

After years of celibacy, then five thousand years in Uthenera. The resultant splash of her entering his life in the chaos caused by Corypheus had opened his eyes. He’d seen the woman beneath the Dalish vallaslin, a spark to tinder ready to ignite. She was ice and fire, cold then scorching as if she might burst into flame. That kiss while spontaneous had been full of desire.

Solas had cast her away.

A fact that troubled Abelas. A heart capable of that kind of love was worth the sun and moon. He savoured the taste of her ardour, glad he’d experienced it first-hand. He was mortified by her boldness, though not at all insulted. He was flattered enough to consider something mutinous.

“Abelas!”

He glanced across the dungeon to Ellana and Loranil. She flapped her hand to get his attention. It’d worked. He rolled his eyes when she beckoned him, the gesture far from flirtatious. It was impatient, bordering on rude though she persisted.

“Loranil says that Solas is in the furthest alcove on the left. The room was cleared out for his use. I’m not going in there by myself. So come along. If I have to suffer being around him for the first time in a century, than you’re going to hold my hand. I’m so nervous that I’m afraid I'll do something stupid”.

Abelas snorted. “Like kiss him?”

Ellana slapped a hand to her mouth, cheeks bulging. She looked so revolted that he wondered if she would retch. “Ugh. I swallowed my own bile. My mouth tastes like arse”.

“You are most welcome”.

She glared at him, her eyes narrowing. “You don’t need to sound so salty about it. I enjoyed that kiss. You’re quite good with your tongue. Enough to make a girl’s toes curl for instance”.

Her honesty flustered him, though he dared not reply. His comrades’ eyes were on him as he strode across the room. The weight of their scrutiny heavier than an anvil around his neck. He gave Loranil a pointed look. The healer bowed with grace, stepping aside with a smile.

Abelas although intending to take charge was startled instead. Ellana latched onto his arm like a limpet to a rock. Her fingers digging into his wrist in desperation. She was so nervous that her hands were shaking. The expression on her face, a mixture of dread and agitation spoke volumes about her state of mind.

“You are terrified”.

She acknowledged his assumption with a mechanical nod of her head. It was slow and deliberate as if she were an automaton with a crick in her neck. Abelas could almost hear the creaking of rusty hinges in need of oiling. He understood why she was afraid. He’d seen the fruition of Solas’ schemes, the least of which had led to the tearing of the Veil.

Thedas had changed overnight.

Abelas would never forget the terror of thousands of newborn mages. The magical aptitude coveted by his people, a blight to the uninitiated. Ellana hadn’t gone mad, caused a catastrophe, or been possessed by a demon. Yet thousands of other elves had, wreaking havoc across Thedas. Hundreds of maleficar had overwhelmed the Templar Order in a matter of hours.

An outcome that’d worked in Solas’ favour.

Abelas thought Ellana wise to be wary. He’d survived the raising of the Veil and the fall of Arlathan. It was best for her not to be alone with Solas. He was dangerous and unpredictable even when unconscious. Abelas patted her hand, giving her what reassurance he could.

“I will be with you”.

Her reply was a whisper of gratitude. “Ma serannas”.

Abelas led her across the hall, passing chairs and couches filled with his brethren. Some lounged, watching their progress with a sense of anticipation. She was the first outsider invited into their sanctuary. Although Loranil's presence had come as a surprise to Ellana.

She raised the issue with Abelas as they walked. “I thought your people were leery of modern elves”.

His reply was sincere. “They are”.

“Then why is Loranil here?”

“We rescued him days after the tearing of the Veil. The Keeper and First of his clan, possessed by malignant spirits turned on their people. Everyone was slaughtered except for Loranil, who was away gathering herbs. We happened upon him a yard from their camp, confused, shaking, and covered in soot. He had unleashed a powerful firestorm spell, incinerating everything within a quarter mile”.

Ellana was solemn, imagining the aftermath. “Killing the Keeper, the First and every other living thing”.

“He had little choice”, finished Abelas. “They were hunting him”.

“So you brought him here?”

“He has a strong affinity for fire magic. A dangerous talent for an untrained mage. He needed tutoring, so in the absence of his clan. We offered him a place among us. He has lived here for a hundred and fifty years, never once desiring to leave”.

She understood why. “Your people became his clan. He found home again”.

“That has been our most fervent hope”.

* * *

Abelas led her inside those giant doors, each oak with a steel rim. The planks were lain diagonally rather than vertical as in modern Thedosian architecture. There was no iron-banding, hinges, or studded nails like the doors in Skyhold. This place had been built by the Elvhen in a style that hearkened back to Arlathan. Ellana saw the grandeur in the flowing shapes wrought in steel at the top and foot of each door.

It was a masterpiece of design, though something a Dalish elf could never replicate.

All about her were the works of Solas’ era not her own. It was reminder of her own inadequacy. An example of how inferior her own people were next to the Elvhen. It left a troubling notion in her mind as Abelas led her inside the alcove. It was a large room with a high ceiling, the walls bare mortared stone.

Ellana remembered bunk beds on the right and left, though these were now gone.

There was one bed on the far right, wide enough to accommodate two though it had but one occupant. Book shelves, a table and two armchairs filled the left side of the room. On the right was a desk, a chair and a set of drawers. The bed thrust outwards, its headboard flush against the wall. Beside it was a couch with a set of cushions, a blanket and a pillow.

That wasn't the worst part.

One of the statues from the floor above was inside Solas' room. It was tall and slender, a woman on a marble plinth holding the sword of the Inquisition against her legs. It had her face too. The likeness was uncanny from the arch of the brows down to the point of the chin. Carved from memory, he'd replicated its form a dozen times.

Then installed each at strategic points inside his sanctuary.

Ellana was unimpressed by the excessive display of cleavage. “Why is it naked?” She looked it up and down with distaste. “Those nipples are pointy enough to gouge an eye out. So he was spying whenever I bathed in the creeks, springs, and rivers”.

Abelas blushed. “You washed outside?”

“I’m Dalish. It’s hard to be modest when forty people live together in the same clan. I was used to getting my kit off and bathing in whatever bit of water we happened to find. It scandalised everyone in the Inquisition unused to a wood elf’s pragmatism. I thought Solas would understand, but he often berated me for being indecent”.

“That does sound like him”.

She gestured to the nude statue in disgust. “He was always a stickler for propriety. Yet two hundred years after he broke my heart, betrayed me and severed my left hand. I find a naked statue of myself in his bedroom with tits bigger than its head. That makes him a hypocritical two-faced bastard”.

“He is contrary by nature”.

Ellana snorted. “He’s an arsehole”. She went quiet and an uncomfortable silence stretched between them. She’d dawdled for long enough. Abelas had brought her here for a reason.

“Will you see him?”

She nodded at last, the emerald fire fading from her eyes. The magic that’d rolled off her in waves of turbulence cooled then dissipated. She was herself again in that moment. A slender elven woman with green eyes and strange silver-white hair streaked with red. She was frightened, though she’d schooled her expression to feign composure.

“Why do you do that?” asked Abelas.

She frowned. “Do what?”

He waved a gauntleted hand in front of his face to illustrate how she flipped her expressions like a page in a book. Her proficiency at hiding her true feelings perturbed him. It was an act of deceit that set her apart from Solas. While he'd donned disguises in the past, he'd never concealed how he felt about the things he loved or hated. His opinions were as varied and colourful as the curses he knew in different languages.

That Ellana did the opposite troubled Abelas. It was dangerous for a mage to internalise that much fear and anger. Years of repressed emotion would lead to an inevitable explosion of magical power. He doubted that she was aware of how much resentment bubbled under her skin. One day her outrage might burn the world to cinders.

“It’s habit”.

“It is unhealthy to mask your emotions”, stated Abelas.

“Sometimes”, she declared with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders. “A mask is all you have left after suffering a tragedy. I’ve gotten used to wearing mine. I’ll take it off one day, but that time isn’t now. Let’s leave it at that”.

“Ma nuvenin”.

She nodded, grateful for his restraint. “Ma serannas”. She glanced at the man in the bed with the covers drawn up to his chin. She exhaled a shaky breath, gathering the tattered fragments of her courage. She tucked it around herself like a cloak, swallowing that lump of near choking anxiety.

It’d been years since she’d been within spitting distance of him.

A man that’d changed her life.

“I’m ready”.

Abelas guided her across the room, going slow lest she spooked again. She had already shown an alarming gift for conjuration. He didn’t want to frighten her into a spontaneous act of self-defence. Ellana was a skilled rogue and a gifted mage. Even with the added reservoir of magic supplied by Solas’ foci, she was a formidable adversary.

He brought her to the edge of the bed, taking a look himself at the leader of the new world.

He lay prone, face towards the ceiling. His head cushioned on a long embroidered pillow. Locks black as a raven’s wing had been washed, combed and arranged about his shoulders. His eyes were closed as if in slumber, though Abelas saw the dark circles of sleeplessness. He was ashen-faced too, the pallor of his skin a sign of stress and fatigue.

“He has hair”, said Ellana. “I never knew it was black”.

“He prefers to wear it braided”.

She nodded as if the news were yet another piece of the puzzle that was Solas. “So he allowed himself the luxury of growing it out”. She cocked her head like a curious mabari, her brows furrowing the longer she looked at him. “He looks weird with fuzz on his noggin. He cleaned up nice for a scruffy hobo with a bald pate shinier than a newly minted sovereign”.

Someone snickered, shattering the tension like a rock hurled at a pane of glass. The jagged pieces fell away, leaving Ellana red and raw on the inside. She glanced across the room, catching sight of Loranil in the doorway with their healers. Beyond them the sentinel elves crowded round, trying to peer inside. She shied under the weight of their scrutiny, though she didn’t retreat as Abelas feared she might.

She managed a wobbly smile when someone coughed. “If you’re the one that laughed. You’ve my thanks. It was getting awkward trying not to be terrified of Solas. He might be a saviour to you lot, but he’s still the Dread Wolf to me”.

That smile waned when she peeled her fingers off Abelas’ forearm. His face softened when she took a deep fortifying breath. She forced herself to step away from him, hands shaking when she moved closer to the bed. She hesitated at first, biting her lip – brows arching in consternation. It took several long moments for her to decide what to do.

Abelas, Loranil, the healers and the sentinel elves waited with bated breath. They were astounded when she asked an unexpected question. The fearful waver in her voice noticeable. It was a simple request, though Abelas still beckoned a handful of his brethren. A sentinel elf laid their hands upon Loranil’s shoulders, coaxing him to step aside with a quiet word.

He tried to protest, but Abelas silenced him with a look. “She is not to be alone with Solas. I will insist on taking all necessary precautions. You will not interfere”.

Loranil nodded, albeit with great reluctance. “Ma nuvenin”.

“Good”.

The sentinels arrayed themselves about Solas’ bed. Each of them former members of Ellana’s original escort. They were still armed and ready to take action. Solas was their saviour, but also their friend. A much loved and trusted part of their community.

They were tense when Ellana repeated her query. “Can I?”

Abelas nodded. “You may, but we will be watching your every move”.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less”.

She approached the bed, knees bending and lowered herself onto the edge of it. She took a seat there not daring to move closer. She inhaled another slow breath, fortifying herself to take the plunge. She wanted to be brave, to face her past so that she could finally let go of it. It was excruciating to ignore her instincts, to not conjure a blade or react like a startled mouse.

She eased herself back, a knee bending as she lifted a leg atop the bed. It folded across the coverlet, creasing the heavy brocade. It was midnight blue and embroidered with stars in silver thread. A moon hung high in the sky, a luminescent disc overlooking a fortress in a valley of muted green. There were artistic representations of trees in the flowing lines of Mythal's vallaslin.

And swards of silvered grasses with tiny white flowers in the shape of a star.

Ellana's eyes prickled as she ran her fingers over one. It was small and delicate on the landscape of Solas' blanket. There in a field of navy-blue, was a picture of his sanctuary at night viewed from above. She didn't doubt it was accurate, though she wondered about the flowers. She'd only ever seen clusters growing in the wild in places where elven blood had been spilt.

She sniffed, blinking back the tears.

"These flowers only grow on the barrows of the dead", she mused aloud though not one of the sentinel elves replied. There was a sudden heaviness in the air, like the tension before a thunderstorm. She could almost taste their grief, the saltiness of it palpable enough to make her bawl. She shuddered under the weight of it, her eyes closing until she begged them to cease. The strength of their melancholy was near overwhelming.

"Venavis! Please! If you persist than I'll drown!"

Abelas raised a hand, speaking a command in elvish. It caused a ripple of astonishment amidst the sentinel elves. They shifted upon their steel-shod feet, giving each other uneasy looks. It was the first time an elf from the younger generation had been able to sense their emotions. The mystery compounding when Ellana doubled over, breathing hard. It was as if she’d been doused in a bucket of iced water.

“You can feel their sorrow?” asked Loranil.

She nodded with a shaky jerk of her head. “Like I’m treading sea water”.

He shared a look with Abelas, his surprise mirrored on the sentinel’s face. “Fenedhis. No modern elf has ever been able to exhibit the old magic. Thoughts and feelings could be transferred from one of the Elvhen to another in words or images. It was the firmament upon which the original Vir Dirthara was built”.

“I know. I met a spirit that resided there. She said that she’d acted as a point of connection with others of her kind. A spirit of wisdom that recorded knowledge and reflected it like a mirror. Sundered from others like herself, she was but one piece of a shattered whole".

Loranil didn’t know what to say. Neither did Abelas, the healers, or the sentinel elves. Her comprehension appalled them as much as it gave them hope. If she could tap into their empathy, if she could feel and know it as if it were her own. Could others do the same?

The possibility teased and tantalised until it took root like a seed.

One of her escorts, a sentinel with green eyes and golden hair offered counsel. “Breathe, da’len. The disorientation will pass. Breathe”.

Ellana did as instructed, taking several deep breaths.

“Good. Slowly. Draw back into yourself as if you were crouching behind a wall. Sit there and wait. The pain should lessen with every beat of your heart”.

It did until the flood of emotion became a tolerable trickle on the edge of her awareness. Ellana’s shoulders slumped, the bones of her spine bending. She lifted her head to regard the sentinel, a woman with hair shaved and braided like Abelas. She smiled in relief, offering a sincere thanks that belied her reclusive nature. The shyness was gone, though there was still a lingering wariness.

“What’s your name?”

“Valoya”.

She felt a little less awkward after that introduction. “Ma serannas, Valoya”.

The sentinel smiled. “You are most welcome”.

The poignancy of that moment put Ellana at ease. She turned back to Solas, appraising him as if he were a statue in an elven ruin. He was as perfect as she remembered, though there were differences between the man she’d known and this one. The most obvious was the luxuriant head of hair, black as night artfully draped across his pillow.

The least the sallowness of his skin as if he’d suffered recent illness.

Solas had always been fair, but never haggard as if he hadn’t eaten in days. The skin of his face was like parchment stretched over the bones of his skull. The hollows under his eyes sunken, the curves of his cheeks gaunt. Even the aquiline bridge of his nose resembled the knuckles of a bent finger. The dimple of his chin was prominent beneath the thin bow of his lower-lip.

She could see the veins beneath his skin, pulsing in shades of purple and red.

She tucked her right hand into the palm of her left. Fingers catching on the leather of her glove. She peeled it off, revealing bronze skin. She reached for him before Abelas could react, knuckles gliding across the curve of his cheek. The sentinel elves were intent on separating them, when Solas’ nose twitched. His brows furrowed though he didn't awaken.

"He moved! Did you see?" cried Loranil.

Ellana ran a thumb under his chin, then across the line of his jaw. Solas responded, turning towards her. He flinched when she pinched the lobe of his ear. She arched a silver brow, cupping his cheek in the palm of her hand. His breath hitched when she ran the pad of her thumb across his lower-lip.

Tears pooled at the corners of his eyes, slipping down his cheeks to splatter upon the pillow. The wet marks in the fabric a testament to the loss he thought was real. Ellana heard the beginnings of a sob crawl up his throat, the air catching on the barb of his greatest fear. It tore when he exhaled, a wail rising high and thin. He keened as if his heart had shattered into a thousand pieces.

"Vhenan!"

Ellana stroked his temple, murmuring nonsense to soothe him. It had the opposite effect. Solas thrashed beneath the blanket, fists flying and legs kicking. He didn't wake even when he clipped Ellana across the ear. Abelas rushed to restrain him.

"No!" hissed Loranil, catching his arm. "He's unconscious! He doesn't know what he's doing! If you interfere now, he'll fight that much harder to get free! You could injure him!"

The healer appealed to Ellana in desperation. "He hasn’t moved or spoken in weeks! He roused at your touch! Talk to him! You’re the only one he’ll listen too!”

She considered the man writhing as if he were in the throes of a nightmare. Her ear smarted where he’d clouted her, though accidental it’d hurt. She was reluctant to help him when Solas’ blanket tangled around his legs. His head rolled left and right, his eyelids fluttering as his mouth opened. He called out in desperation.

“Vhenan!”

She leaned out of the way when he reached out blindly. He searched for something he couldn’t see, pale fingers groping the air. She watched him in silence, refusing to answer. He stilled, the line of his jaw going slack. His face was a rictus of pain, the tears welling anew. His mouth trembled when she turned away, the bed lurching when she put her heels on the floor.

“Vhenan?”

She said nothing, ignoring Solas to Loranil’s horror. She shouldered passed him, not saying a word. She tried to slip by Abelas, but he grabbed her arm. She coiled like a snake, lips peeling back from her teeth. She rounded on him with a snarl.

“Let go of me!”

He glared at her, golden eyes blazing. “You would leave him to suffer?”

The bridge of her nose wrinkled in distaste. “It’s no less than he deserves”.

“He calls for you!”

“Why should I care?” she argued, her voice escalating. “He destroyed my world and my people! He ruined countless lives! That he’s trapped in the Fade for an eternity is better than letting him ride roughshod over Thedas again! I agreed to see him and I’ve done that!”

Abelas’ couldn’t believe her audacity. He saw the grim determination in her eyes. The cold fury that lay beneath the façade of civility. She’d lost family and friends to Solas’ single-minded crusade against the Evanuris. This was a personal vendetta.

“Let me go!”

He tried in vain to convince her to help Solas. “He loves you”.

Ellana’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “The man you’re talking about never existed! He was a disguise Solas donned to join the Inquisition! The creature in that bed might have his face, but he isn’t the person I adored! That man was a figment of Solas’ imagination!”

“Is that what you believe?”

She pushed at his chest, scowling. “It’s what he led me to believe! Nothing he ever told me was true! His love like everything else was pretension! A lie fabricated so that he could use me as a weapon against Corypheus!”

Abelas let her go, trembling like a newborn fawn. Everything she’d said was true. Solas had used her and the Inquisition to get what he’d wanted. Control of the foci his agents had given to a mad darkspawn magister. Solas had come so close to losing the war before it’d started.

Thanks to Ellana and her fledgling Inquisition, Corypheus had been defeated.

Though to this day she’d never forgiven or forgotten Solas’ betrayal. The wound was deeper than he’d thought. A canker that’d festered in her bosom for two hundred years. He knew then with sudden terrible clarity that she would never lift a finger to help Solas. She would leave him to rot in the prison of his own grief.

Unable to awaken or to fall into a rejuvenating slumber. He would be forever caught between the Fade and the real world. A fate that would in time lead to one inevitable conclusion. He gaped at Ellana, seeing not the woman Solas had loved but the rogue he’d feared. Frigid as a glacier with a heart of ice.

“If you do nothing”, he warned. “Solas will die”.

She lifted her chin, her lip curling with indignation. “Better late than never”.

The brashness of her words was overheard. The nearest sentinel stepped forward, drawing his blade. He reacted faster than Abelas expected. In a flash of silver the cutting edge was pressed against Ellana’s neck. He would’ve commanded him to let her pass when she stepped into the blade.

“Ellana!”

It bit deep, lacerating skin and flesh. She inhaled a sucking breath, blood gurgling as it spilled from her lips. She blinked at the sentinel, silver brows arching in relief. She staggered backward, falling into Abelas’ arms. Blood splashed his armour as it trickled from the slice in her jugular.

The sentinel that’d wounded her dropped his sword when the blade smoked. Lines of emerald fire igniting where Ellana’s blood had spilled. It fell with a clang, striking the tiled floor where it burst into flame. The room erupted into chaos. Loranil barked orders at their healers.

Abelas cradled Solas’ dying beloved, pressing a hand against the wound.

He tried to stem the scarlet tide.

The sentinel that’d struck the blow lifted shaking gauntleted hands to his face. He stared at them in horror. Behind him as Abelas lowered Ellana to the ground, Solas convulsed upon the bed. His mouth opened, lips peeling back from his teeth. He screamed her name, cheeks wet as a scar formed across the skin of his throat.

It was a perfect line, its twin red and gleaming upon Ellana's neck.


	4. Love, Hate, and Compassion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited - first draft.

It was frustrating work, though in the end even Loranil was surprised. Ellana was still breathing, albeit with a pink line across her neck. Solas had fallen into an agitated sleep, tossing and turning though he'd ceased to scream. He bore a scar too. A neat line across his throat, four inches long that curved like a smile.

He still wept on occasion, the tears trickling down his cheeks.

Ellana sat beside his bed in an armchair filched from somewhere in Orlais. Her feet elevated on a matching ottoman. She was seething about what'd happened. The proficiency of Solas' healers, a thorn in her side. She glared when Loranil approached with a blanket in his arms.

“No”.

“Don’t be stubborn”, he reproved, not liking her persistent grumpiness. “I know how cold it gets in here. You’ll need to stay warm. A blanket should suffice”.

She was annoyed by his fussing. “Shove it up your arse”.

He smiled with a touch of sadness. “I know you’re mad at me, but I couldn’t let you die”.

Her reply was brusque. “That cut was deep enough to sever my windpipe. I was bleeding out. If you hadn’t touched me with a healing spell. The magic of the Anchor wouldn’t have awakened in time to cauterise the wound”.

Loranil was brought up short, the dread churning in his guts. He’d never before faced a patient that’d courted death. She’d turned her head with such swiftness that not even Abelas had been able to react in time. The sentinel responsible was a snivelling mess of misery, snot and tears. The sword he’d taken pride in a glob of melted metal.

“If you die!” hissed Loranil, losing his patience with her morbid sense of self-destruction. “Solas will die too! I’ve seen the scar on his neck! It matches the one you have! Your lives are linked by the magic of the foci you destroyed!”

“How you do know about that?” demanded Ellana.

“He told me!”

She glared at him with that unsettling grimness. The glacial frigidity in her eyes making his skin prickle with unease. Her face never once softened, the ice around her heart harder than adamant. How often had she faced death never to die? A magic older than Arlathan soaked so deep into her bones that it healed every injury, no matter how severe.

“He ruined my life”.

“He loves you!” spat Loranil. “And you don’t care!”

“No”, affirmed Ellana with a snarl. “I don’t. Are you satisfied? Not everyone in this world wants to see him alive. Me least of all”.

He gaped at her, hazel eyes turning watery. The heroic image of the Herald of Andraste that he’d held closest to his heart – fracturing. He sucked in an agonised breath, realising that all his hopes and dreams had been for naught. She hated the one person he loved and respected. The man that’d saved his life and offered him a home when he’d had none left in Thedas.

“How can you say that? How can you sit there and not feel for him? He has suffered more than any of us! First he lost his parents, then his family to war, and after finding himself a place at Mythal’s side! She was betrayed and murdered by the Evanuris!”

Ellana inclined her head like a curious mabari. She arched a silver brow as if to mock him. “Does your diatribe have a point?” She flicked her fingers at him, feigning encouragement. “Enlighten me about how self-sacrificing your saviour is”.

Loranil recoiled as if she’d struck him. The tears spilling over, the bow of his lower-lip trembling. “He saved me after my clan was slain by maleficar. I’ll never think badly of him. No matter what you say”.

“Then you’re a fool so disillusioned by Solas’ little act of kindness. That you never saw the wolf under his skin. He murdered his closest friend, a fellow somniari not four years after he’d left the Inquisition. An elf named Felassan that’d served him for centuries. He even severed my arm without a numbing spell”.

She lifted her gloved left hand from the arm of her chair. She laid it in the palm of her right, bare fingers catching the leather. She pulled it loose, a digit at a time till she could peel it off like the skin from an orange. Loranil blanched when she turned that hand towards the light. It was transparent like a pane of glass, a grotesque semblance of a limb that glowed emerald-green.

Light diffused through it, reminding him of the Breach.

Bile crawled up his throat like a spider. He saw the barest hint of bones in her wrist, across the back of her hand and in each of her fingers. Translucent like frosted glass, though with the eerie luminescence of veilfire. There was a web of nerves, blood vessels and even the thinnest veneer of skin. He saw the pale half-moon curves of her nails, though that wasn’t the worst.

Near the hinge of her elbow was a ring of puckered flesh.

A scar the width of a finger, where Solas had severed her wrist. It was ugly as if she’d been burned, though Loranil knew better. He froze when Ellana splayed her fingers, showing him the fruits of Solas’ labours. He threw the blanket at her, cheeks bulging as he turned on his heel. He bolted from the bedroom like a coward.

She heard his wet retching in the hall outside.

She snorted, shaking her head in disgust. “Healers’ are supposed to have stronger stomachs”. She paused, catching sight of a figure in the doorway. A sentinel elf, tall and shining like a knight from some romantic tale stepped inside. His hair was silver, his eyes a bewitching burnished gold.

“Abelas”.

He’d passed the sentries stationed outside with unchallenged authority. He’d led Mythal’s personal guard for centuries until her death. The sentinel elves still considered him their commander. His familiarity in the role, a gift amidst the sea of change Solas had wrought. He'd judged the changing currents of the modern world thus far with aplomb.

Until a wily Dalish elf had thrown herself on the blade of an unwitting subordinate. A man whose confidence once steady as a mountain had crumbled. He was still sitting in a corner, gawking at his hands in wide-eyed horror. He hadn't eaten or drunk anything in hours. Too traumatised to do more than weep until his eyes were red and raw.

“Why did you do it?” asked Abelas. “My lieutenant is out there, bawling like a child. He will not eat, or drink. He stares at his hands as if he has committed the most heinous of crimes. He thinks himself a kinslayer because he spilled your blood”.

Ellana shrugged. “Than he shouldn’t be a soldier. People die everyday of sickness, old age and misfortune. That was a paper cut in comparison to what he would’ve seen during the Veil war. You fought in it as did every other sentinel still breathing”.

His lip curled with indignation. “The war is over”.

“For some. Others don’t have the luxury of rebuilding their lives. A hundred years of peace can’t erase the past. I was there. Or have you forgotten who led the forces against Solas?”

He shook his head, the long coil of his silver braid lashing the air in agitation. “I have not forgotten”.

She sniffed, laying the radiant limb of her left hand across Loranil’s blanket. It sat in her lap in a messy bundle. The same midnight blue as Solas’ coverlet. The image of the valley surrounding his sanctuary embroidered into it. She would've cast it onto the floor if Abelas hadn’t snatched it from her grasp.

He’d crossed the threshold, striding to her seat the instant she’d wadded it into a ball.

She huffed when he shook it out then draped it across her lap. He tucked it around her legs, noting with satisfaction that someone had taken her boots. She was barefoot as a newborn baby. He was glad when she didn’t shrug it off, though she hated his forethought. She glowered at him with the moodiness of a bear with a toothache.

She wanted to peel the skin off his face with her bare hands.

“Venavis”, he commanded, irked by her rudeness. “We are trying to help you”.

“Bullshit”, she challenged. “I’m a prisoner here. Why else are there armed guards on the door? I’ll only be able to leave this shithole in one of two ways. Either by walking out of here or if I’m cut down”.

Abelas took a seat on the edge of her ottoman. He smacked her shin when she kneed him in the hip. He smacked it again when she stuck her calf across the back of his thighs. She tried to shove him off until he planted his backside in the middle of it. Her feet were forced off to the side, though she dug her heels into the small of his back.

“Fat arse”.

“Are you always this hostile?”

“Get off my ottoman!”

He leaned forwards, the corner of his mouth curving upward. “No”.

Ellana’s sulky pout made him smile. “Fine. Sit on it then. See if I care”.

He addressed the matter at hand, even if the subject was somewhat delicate. She’d caused a stir amidst the sentinel elves. Some wanted her ejected from their home into the icy depths of the river. Others wanted to keep her on dry land lest she drown. Their concerns for Solas’ survival at the forefront of their minds.

“You were unkind to Loranil”.

“He’ll live”, she replied, feeling spiteful. “I can’t be the only shitty patient he’s ever treated”.

Abelas tried again, hoping to make her feel even a tad guilty. “He saved you”.

She was quick to correct him. “The Anchor saved me. All he did was cast a healing spell at the most inopportune moment. You’ve trained him too bloody well. He was so quick, I didn’t have a chance to pull away before his fingers were on my neck”.

“He spent the later part of the war tending our wounded. Many are alive today thanks to his skill and eagerness to learn”.

Ellana’s approval was grudging. “I’d thought as much”. She rapped the transparent knuckles of her left hand against the gilded poleyn upon his knee. The dull clink illustrating her annoyance with their dutiful Dalish healer. “The sight of blood doesn’t unnerve him, but show him a green magical hand and he’s retching in the corner”.

“You surprised him”.

She kneed him in the hip again. “Why are you here?” she goaded. “You could be doing a thousand other things than taking me to task for tormenting Loranil. Surely someone in this godforsaken pit needs your attention. So go off and bother them instead of bothering me”.

Abelas frowned. He didn’t like the way she’d dismissed him as if he were a servant. She was a guest in Solas’ sanctuary. Even if she were unwilling, it wasn’t her place to spout orders. He reminded her of that with one simple word.

“No”.

“Arse”.

He let her stew in her own frustration for several moments. Then he asked a pertinent question. “Why did you kiss me?” Her answer, while honest didn’t win her any favours. Ellana lacked Solas’ subtlety, her bluntness insulting Abelas’ romantic sensibilities.

“I was about to have my head lopped off. It seemed a good idea at the time”.

He took immediate offence. “You insensitive, shrew!”

Her brows arched in amazement when he leapt to his feet. “What?” she called when he stomped away, swearing in elvish. He was out the door when she exclaimed. “What’d I say?” She rolled her eyes, exasperated by his outrage.

“Boys”.

* * *

Time passed in bored silence. Ellana lounged where Abelas had left her when someone new entered the bedroom. He stood on the threshold between those huge double-doors. It was the sentinel that’d laid the blade across her neck. His blue eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, his cheeks wet as if he’d been weeping for hours.

He was tall like Abelas, though his hair was several shades darker. She spied streaks of russet amidst auburn curls. A pleasing contrast until she saw the hollowness in his eyes. Something inside him had broken, a precious fragile thing that’d once held his world together. She’d seen it before in soldiers that’d survived the Veil war.

The guilt of their own survival, a stone around their necks.

The sentinel stood there like a marionette on a string. He didn’t apologise. He didn’t turn and walk away. He sniffled like a child, salty tears of misery trickling down his face. He stared at her tense and quiet, waiting for something to happen.

Moments passed in an awkward silence.

Ellana’s heart softened with sympathy. She raised a hand, swallowing the lump in her throat. She’d seen that look of devastation often enough to know what it meant. If she did nothing, if she let him go away unanswered. It might be the last time he walked among his brethren.

“Garas”, she called, beckoning.

He entered the room, steps mincing as if he walked across a bed of hot coals. He came within feet of her, though not a step closer. He was unarmed too. Ellana didn’t see a scabbard hanging from his waist or the sheath of a dagger. He’d lost his belt sometime in the last few hours, though she wasn’t sure if it’d been discarded or left behind.

He’d made sure to come to her without a single blade on his person.

It was wise considering her recklessness.

“So the guards at the door let you in, though likely without Abelas’ permission. No one is permitted to visit me after my little stunt earlier today. You I suspect least of all. So if you managed to get passed them. Why are you here?”

He inhaled a watery sniff, the line of his mouth thinning. He shook his head, the auburn hair that’d come loose from his braid tangling around his ears. He looked younger than she expected, like a boy barely passed his first century. Which was impossible if he’d once been sworn to Mythal. The viridian whorls of her vallaslin curved upon his brow and temples.

He might’ve been younger than Abelas, but he was older than her by several millennia.

“You’re not Dalish even with Mythal’s vallaslin upon your face”, said Ellana without a tinge of remorse. “You’re one of Abelas’ sentinels, dressed as you are in that gilded armour”.

She counted her assessment accurate with one look at his garb. He wore a gilded breastplate beneath a hooded surcoat, then pauldrons, and gauntlets. He had those snug cuisse on his thighs, followed by poleyns at the knee and greaves on his feet. He was the ancient elven equivalent of a fish in a suit of mail. A look he would’ve suited if not for the expression of despair upon his face.

"Definitely not Dalish”, she reiterated. “My kinsmen wouldn’t shed tears for killing a stranger. Not even for an elf unless they knew them. So judging from the tears on your cheeks, and the redness in your eyes. You’ve never taken the life of another elf”.

He flinched as if she’d struck him.

“I didn’t think so”. She drew on what she knew of him, making a quick assessment. “You never fought in the Veil war”. She nodded when he gave a slow shake of his head. “Which means that you’ve only come out of Uthenera within the last hundred years”.

He inhaled a shaky breath, blue eyes widening in astonishment.

“I’m observant not stupid”, she reproved. “No veteran soldier would react as you did to a spot of blood. I’ve seen grown men cry, even shit themselves with fear. I’ve never seen a sentinel elf gape at his own hands as if he’d committed murder. You were horrified when I slashed my throat open upon your blade”.

He pulled his head into his shoulders, reminding her of a turtle withdrawing into its shell.

“Venavis”, she called, voice gentle. “I’m not criticising you. It was an observation. You’re older than the green-gilled recruits I’ve come across by several millennia. You should be used to killing, but you’re not despite appearances to the contrary”.

He trembled then, shoulders sagging as if she’d found out his most shameful secret.

“I’m not judging you, far from it. Even among the Dalish, some were better suited to tending Halla than hunting game. Elves like them were the heart of every clan, treasured and loved by all. It isn’t shameful not to want to hurt another living thing. You value life, though I changed that for you today”.

Ellana sat up in her chair, lifting her legs from the ottoman. She gestured to it, encouraging him to sit. His breath hitched, the tears overflowing. He staggered, near tripping over his own feet when she set her heels on the floor. She spread the blanket across her knees then patted her lap.

He took a seat on the ottoman, unsure at first till she opened her arms.

“It’s all right”, she assured him. “Lie down. I’ve an apology to make. If soothing your fears helps to ease your suffering. I’d like to make amends”.

He hesitated a second time, still uncertain till she hummed an old Dalish tune. His composure broke the instant she put words to the song. It was a lullaby she’d learned as a child at her father’s knee. A ditty that she’d often sung to the youngest members of her clan. The sentinel rolled onto his side, letting his head fall into her lap like a stone.

Ellana combed his hair from his face, singing as she laid her cheek upon the crown of his head. She arranged her arms about his shoulders as a mother might for her child. She heard him cry, his soft shuddering gasps reminding her of Dorian losing the Iron Bull. She mourned then for her friends, now a hundred and fifty years dead. The Veil war had cost her dearly, though she didn’t blame this poor sentinel.

She reserved her fury for his master.

She stroked his cheek, continuing her song as his voice cracked. He was sobbing by the end of it. The grief and pain bottled up over centuries spent in Uthenera gushing out. She chose another lullaby after that, longer than the first though no less soft and sad. It was an hour before he quietened, before the tears dried and Abelas found them.

The leader of the sentinel elves watched when his subordinate roused at Ellana’s touch. He was half-asleep until she murmured in his ear. He awakened with a start, cheeks flushing when he spied Abelas and Valoya. He rose from the ottoman, an apology on his lips when another voice intervened. He blinked, red-rimmed blue eyes widening in surprise.

“He was guarding me”.

Abelas’ brows furrowed. “Arryn was not permitted to be in here”.

Ellana snorted. “You said I wouldn’t be left alone with Solas. So Arryn made sure I didn’t smother him with his own pillow”. She gestured to the bed and its occupant still asleep, though occasionally twitching. “He’s alive thanks to the one sentinel in this cesspit that did his actual job”.

Abelas inclined his head to the door. Valoya darted forwards, giving Ellana a grateful nod. She ushered Arryn across the room, then out into the hall beyond. They didn’t stay there long, but shuffled away into the distance. Abelas wasn’t appeased when the object of his frustration barked.

“What?”

He glowered at her, his golden eyes narrowing. “You comforted him. Why?”

Her nonchalant shrug irked him. “His heart was breaking. I’ve seen it before in unblooded warriors who’ve never made a first kill. He might know how to use a sword, but he’s never raised it against another elf. You implied that he thought himself a kinslayer”.

“Because of what you did”.

She didn’t deny it. “I was responsible for his hurt. So I comforted him. It was the right thing to do. He wouldn’t have survived another night in the walls of this sanctuary if I’d done nothing”.

That startled him. “You think he would have ended his life?”

“I don’t think”, corrected Ellana. “I know. I’ve seen that before too. Even Dalish warriors aren’t as stalwart as the rest of Thedas believes. They question their morality when it comes to killing their own kind too”.

Abelas didn’t believe her. “You do not consider my people your own”.

“Neither do you. Your folk might’ve adopted Loranil, but he’s not one of the Elvhen. I suspect Solas let him stay here out of pity, then as part of an experiment. He likely wanted to see if a Dalish elf could adjust to your way of life. If it’d been unsuccessful, Loranil wouldn’t still be here”.

“That is presumptuous of you”.

“That’s not a denial”.

He didn’t like how perceptive she was. He felt naked as if she could peer into his head and pluck out his thoughts. Solas had been observant too. The reminder of his friend was painful, though Abelas brushed it off. If Ellana was anything like her estranged beau, she would utilise it against him.

Exploiting his weaknesses to her advantage.

“Venavis!”

Her eyes rolled in exasperation. “Fine. If I’m done pissing you off. Can I go?”

“No”.

“Why not?”

“You have not told me the truth”.

“What truth is that?”

Her evasiveness vexed him. “That you are bound to Solas”.

Ellana took immediate offence. Her reply was heated. “We’re not bonded! I’d sooner hump a hurlock than marry than conceited twat! He deserves a kick in the balls for what he’s put me through!”

Abelas flushed a lurid pink. He didn’t like the notion any more than she did. After that scintillating kiss he’d had his eye on her until she’d frightened poor Arryn. Her compassion while unexpected was a relief. He’d hoped that half the stories Loranil had told about her were true.

Tonight he’d glimpsed a little of the tender side she’d had as Andraste’s Herald.

“That is not what I meant”.

She spied the reddish tinge in his cheeks. “You’re blushing”.

“It is cold in here”.

“Of course it is. Loranil said so. I have a blanket to prove it”.

She was right of course, though Abelas didn’t appreciate her cheekiness. The navy blanket, a copy of the coverlet tucked under Solas’ chin lay across her lap. She looked comfortable underneath it with her feet back on the ottoman. He was glad of the theft, though the padded armchair was an eyesore. It was big, wine red and ridiculously Orlesian with a fringe of gold tassels.

Ellana seemed to like it, so he’d allow her to keep it.

“Must you always try my patience?” he asked with a tinge of irritation.

“Let me go and I’ll stop”.

“I must insist that you stay”.

“Why?”

Abelas gestured to the bed and its occupant. Solas lay where they’d left him, though he twitched like a dying bird. His eyes roved underneath his lids as if he were asleep. Abelas knew better. Solas wasn’t asleep, but stuck in a never-ending nightmare.

“He roused when you touched him. He wept and wailed as if your life was imperilled. Why, Ellana? He bears a copy of your cut across his neck. The scar was acquired within moments of you turning your throat against Arryn’s blade”.

She grimaced, her dislike of Loranil growing. “That observant, shit”.

“Why?” he reiterated, the fuse of his patience shortening. He started to get angry when she gave him a hard flat look. “Tell me! I know it has something to do with the foci’s magic! Why is Solas still unconscious?”

Ellana exhaled a weary breath. Her answer was so succinct it astounded Abelas. “He thinks I’m dead”.

“What? How?”

She tapped a bare finger against her temple. “Solas’ foci connects us waking or sleeping. I didn’t realise how much until after the tearing of the Veil. I saw bits of his plans unfold in my dreams during the war. It’s how I was able to anticipate and circumvent his attacks in Seheron, Par Vollen and Rivain”.

“You aided the Qunari against him?”

“It’s why they called me Basalit-an”.

“I have heard the term before”, acknowledged Abelas. “It is a title of respect given to outsiders they consider trustworthy. Although I believe one of them called you Kadan. A word in Qunlat I have never heard before. What does it mean?”

Ellana went quiet, knowing that he referred to the incident earlier that day. When the wind had snatched up her hair. When it’d streaked the silver with threads of red. A colour sacred to the Qunari. She remembered the voice that’d whispered in her ears.

Its tone so filled with love and respect that she’d almost burst into tears.

“It’s an endearment like vhenan in elvish”.

“It means – heart?”

“Rather where it lies”.

Abelas understood when the corners of Ellana's mouth turned down. His prying upset her. She wiped a bronzed thumb across her cheek, catching a stray tear that slipped from her lashes. She refused to look at him, focusing her gaze on a point in the wall behind him. It was easier than letting him see how much she was hurting.

“Who did you lose?”

“One of my dearest friends”.

“A Qunari?”

“Tal-Vashoth”.

Abelas was loathe to prod her, but he needed answers. She’d yet to elaborate on a significant fact. “That does not explain why Solas thinks you are dead”. He flicked his fingers at her as if to point out the obvious. “Unless I am mistaken. You are quite alive”.

She was unimpressed by his logic. “How perceptive of you”.

“Why does Solas believe that you expired?”

Her candidness startled him.

“Because I died eleven months, three weeks, and four days ago. Likely the same length of time he’s been comatose. He sensed the moment my heart stopped after I was impaled by an assassin’s spear. I’ve been in hiding for the better part of a year since the Archon put a bounty on my head. The Vints don’t like that I’m welcome among the Qunari”.

“Are you allied with them?”

“Not exactly”, said Ellana. “My ties to them are historical. I was an ally of the Arishok that came after the Antaam invaded Kirkwall, over two hundred years ago. Marian Hawke killed his predecessor. The Arishok I knew served as a Sten in the Beresaad before he was promoted”.

The news shocked Abelas. “Were you his kadan?”

“No. That was the Hero of Fereldan”.

“Then who loved you so?”

“My friend”.

“The Tal-Vashoth?”

“He was called – The Iron Bull”, finished Ellana. “I will tell you nothing else until you agree to turn me loose”.

“Then help Solas”.

“If I refuse?”

“Then you will stay here. Indefinitely”, warned Abelas. “I will not let you leave this island until he is awake again. I would suggest that you consider what you will do. If I must put you in chains. I will”.

She hated that idea. “You’ll have my answer by morning”.

“Good”. He gestured to the room around them. “You will sleep here tonight. The door will be warded and guarded from dusk till dawn. I would suggest that you not try to escape. The consequences will be most unpleasant”.

“Fine, but can I at least use a chamberpot, bathe, and eat before you lock me in?”

Abelas reddened. “Why did you not say so?”

Ellana flapped a hand at him. “You were too busy swearing at me. Then you stormed off in a huff. It’s not like I could follow you. I’m a prisoner here. Remember?”

“Fenedhis!”

He remembered all right. Her answer about their passionate interlude on the dungeon floor had infuriated him. He’d thought the woman a shameless flirt. Although he believed her character somewhat flawed, he’d seen a gentler side of her thanks to Arryn. Her compassion intrigued him as much as her evasiveness irritated him.

She was fascinating enough to steal from Solas.


	5. Bonding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited. First draft.

These ancient elves had strange ideas about sanitation.

They had a flushing chamberpot complete with a wooden seat. Water swirled around the bowl before it was sucked down a hole in the bottom. Ellana had felt awkward sitting on it with her knickers down around her ankles. They had some kind of soft paper that resembled a napkin, cut into modest squares. She’d been uncertain about what to do with it until inspiration had struck.

Oh.

In the forest after squatting behind a bush, she’d often used typical Dalish etiquette. If it had big green leaves that didn’t cause a rash, it was safe to use on her bottom. The paper squares had sufficed, though there’d been a weird scratching sensation. She wasn’t sure if she was clean and dry or if she had a splinter in a sensitive place. She hoped it was the former, she didn’t want Loranil plucking one out of her arse with a pair of tweezers.

Then she’d had to figure out what to do afterwards.

She couldn’t bury the bits of sodden paper, so it went into the bowl. She rose from the seat, perplexed by the large round hole in it. It was an improvement on the standard chamberpot pulled out from under a bed. It was even better than the long drops either dug into the ground or built into a brick shaft that emptied into a moat. She was certain the sentinel elves didn't flush their waste into the lake.

The lush gardens around the fortress, teeming with flowers needed more than water to grow.

She yanked on the accompanying silver chain, watching water swirl about the bowl. Her business was there than gone, sluiced down a drain pipe she couldn’t see. Instead of hitching up her breeches, she waddled over to the bench like a duck. There sitting atop it was a large ceramic bowl, a bar of soap and a ewer of water. She looked at the ewer’s curved handle, thinking something unsavoury.

She’d wiped herself clean, but she had yet to wash her hands.

It wasn’t the ewer or its handle that was giving her second thoughts. It was the ceramic bowl, gleaming white but not necessarily clean. She glanced around the room, wondering if ancient sanitation involved hygiene. It looked presentable from the plain tiled floor to the colourful mosaics on the wall. There wasn’t a speck of dirt or dust anywhere, not even the pervasive stink of urine or faeces.

The air had the woodland smell of pine needles. A refreshing scent that reminded her of home. Although the huge glazed window made things somewhat awkward. Especially since it was open and a nosy golden-eyed elf thought it prudent to poke his head inside. Ellana hit him with a lightning spell that crackled off the tips of her fingers.

Abelas' startled cry was her reward.

"Get out!" she hissed. "I'm not finished!"

She didn't feel bad when she heard him cursing outside. His gilded fingers patting out the singed tail of his braid. He'd need to trim the verge, but he'd stuck his head inside a lavatory while it was occupied. She didn't know a thing about their sense of personal propriety. She did know that it was crude to ogle a lady in the middle of her private ablutions.

“Bloody sentinel elves”, she complained, casting a lightning spell at the washing bowl. It was followed by a frost-spell then a burst of flame. A moment later she had a basin full of steaming water. She snatched up the bar of soap, washing her hands with relish. Although the water was scalding hot, she didn't care.

A second frost spell cooled it down till the water was tepid.

Ellana dried her hands by flapping them in the air. She was quick to pull up her knickers, then her breeches soon after. She felt better with her delicate bits tucked away. She cinched her belt, the pressure on her bladder and bowels now relieved. A tug and a clip later she didn’t bother letting herself out the door.

She jumped out the window like a cat, landing on her feet.

Abelas glared at her over the singed tail of his braid, more embarrassed than upset. She had caught him spying, though he hadn’t seen much. She’d been quick as a striking snake, quite used to flinging blades at her foes. He supposed that he should be grateful she hadn’t thrown a knife conjured or otherwise. He was still miffed that she’d used magic on him.

“A lightning spell?”

She was furious when he dared to take offence. “You stuck your head in through the bloody window. I had my knickers down around my ankles. I wasn’t going to stand there and let you to get an eyeful. I’ve got a right to wipe my arse without some pervert trying to find out if my curtains match my carpet”.

He sucked in an outraged breath. “I am not a pervert!”

“Were you checking to see if I’d drowned in the cistern then?”

Her wittiness stumped him. He didn’t know how to reply without incriminating himself. He’d wanted to check on her after she’d taken a while to do her business. He’d thought that she’d run off as rogues were wont to do. He hadn’t expected to find her half-naked in the latrine.

“No”.

“So you were spying on me”, accused Ellana. “Solas did that whenever I was bathing outside while he was part of the Inquisition. The blasted pervert. Then he had the cheek to have twelve statues commissioned of my naked arse in white marble. If you were peeping at me, do me a favour and don’t immortalise what you saw in stone”.

He blushed. “I would be far more discreet”.

She stared at him, her silver brows furrowing. “I don’t know if I should feel reassured by that or wary enough to run away from you”. The moment turned awkward. The nature of their conversation giving her a sense of foreboding. “Do you have any predilections?”

Abelas didn’t like the way she was looking at him. Her eyes were beady and glinting with curiosity. She reminded him of a raven trying to decide how to crack the shell of a particularly hard nut. It was far from flattering. He wasn't the kind of man that liked divulging his personal likes and dislikes to nosy Dalish women.

So he answered with a frank - "What?"

“Oh, you know”, she said with a casual wave of her hand. “Men, women. Both”.

He gaped at her, stunned. “Are you asking about my sexual preferences?”

Ellana shrugged. “Yes”.

She was about as subtle as a rampaging druffalo.

“Why?”

“Morbid curiosity. I want to know what kind of man I kissed under Solas’ roof. You’ve already displayed a perturbing interest in my affairs. I was also feeling rather terrible about it. I attacked you with my face, even if there wasn’t any biting involved. I’m afraid that I may have overstepped my bounds in a way that’s quite offensive”.

He wondered if she made a habit of biting her lovers. “By kissing me”.

“It’s considered polite to ask first. It’s considered a faux pas to make a pass at someone without knowing if that interest is reciprocated. I reacted in the spur of the moment to save my own neck, thus inflicting my face on your person. I took advantage of the situation. If I upset you or made you feel at all uncomfortable. I apologise”.

Her sincerity astounded Abelas. “Ma serannas. Although I fail to see what that has to do with my predilections as you have put it”.

She blinked, surprised. Had she heard that right? He had predilections with an ‘S’. Plural. Which meant more than one.

“Oh”.

“Oh?” he reiterated, unsure if he should be insulted.

Ellana raised a hand to pacify him. “Ir abelas. I’m a little shocked. You’re so staid and reserved. I didn’t think you’d be that adventurous”.

This little game was wearing on his patience. “Adventurous?” he hissed. “What kind of man do you think I am?”

He forgot his anger when she smiled at him. It was sweet and sincere, her face soft as if she regarded him with great respect. His heart picked up, pulsing like a drum against his ribs. Her next words were compliments, heartfelt and genuine without a hint of deceit. It would take him several days to figure out why she’d asked.

“Loyal, kind, compassionate and honourable. The kind of man I’d thought Solas once was, until I learned otherwise”.

It was Abelas’ turn to be surprised. “Oh. Ma serannas”. The silence was awkward, though it lacked the prickliness of tense social interactions. He looked Ellana in the eye when he gave her his answer.

“I like both men and women”.

She gawked at him, green eyes widening with incredulity. “Really?”

“Yes. I was not offended by that kiss. I was flattered”.

Ellana blushed. “Oh”, she replied in a small voice. “I’m glad”. Then she cracked a rather naughty grin, her eyebrows waggling. “Just elves then?”

He returned her smile, though it was tinged with sadness. “If I were to offer my heart to anyone. It would be for an elven lifetime. I have not yet met another with whom I have wanted to share that journey. So I am still alone, bound to my duty rather than to a family”.

“Oh”.

Abelas inclined his head, seeing her go quiet. “You are surprised”.

“I am”.

“Why?”

She shrugged her shoulders with that same infuriating nonchalance. “It doesn’t matter. Shall we go?”

He was discomforted by how she avoided difficult subjects. “Ellana”.

She shook her head, the corners of her mouth turning down. “I don’t want your sympathy. Whatever future I could’ve had with Solas may have been an illusion. But my life was never a game, Abelas. I wasn’t a pawn that he could put into play whenever he wanted. He never thought otherwise, though one day soon I’ll have the chance to tell him”.

“You have decided”.

“Not quite. I still have until morning. For now, I’d like to take a bath”.

“Outside?”

She frowned. “What’s wrong with bathing outside?”

Abelas pitied her poor Dalish upbringing. He supposed she was a woodland hobo after growing up in the wilds of Thedas. Her bathroom had been anywhere her clan had stopped to make camp. It was so rustic that he hoped she could adapt to being indoors. The Elvhen didn’t bathe in the rain unless it was a last resort.

* * *

While bathing daily was a luxury to most Thedosians. It was a normal part of life for Abelas’ people. Ellana couldn’t believe how lucky they were. A walk through an Eluvian had brought them to a natural hot spring. She didn’t know where it was in Thedas nor did she care. There was hot water, a deep pool and a series of tiny waterfalls perfect for rinsing off.

She was loosening her belt when Abelas hissed in remonstration.

“No!”

“Why not?” she whined like a small child denied a treat. A hasty gesture to the hot spring illustrated her point. It was as if she’d discovered a paradise in a pool of steaming water. “Give me a bar of soap and leave me here for an hour. I’ll come back cleaner than an Orlesian’s masked bunghole”.

“No”.

“Aw!”

She stomped her feet, pouting until he beckoned. She was annoyed when he walked away, following a cobbled path that passed the hot spring. She gave the pool one last longing look, shoulders slumping when Abelas didn’t slow down. She groaned in annoyance, feet dragging though she took the same route. He hadn’t gone far when she passed through an archway that led to Valoya.

“Why is she here?” asked Ellana.

“She will take you to the women’s pool”, explained Abelas. “The hot spring you saw is used for communal bathing. I thought you would appreciate more privacy. Valoya will see to your needs. She will bring you back in time for the evening meal”.

“Ma serannas”.

He smiled, nodding. He went back the way they’d come, disappearing through the archway. The thud of his footsteps fading into the distance. Ellana was a little nervous about being alone with Valoya. She knew Abelas, but this woman was a stranger.

“So”, said Ellana. “Are you going to drown me for hurting Arryn?”

She was humbled when Valoya’s face softened. Her green eyes glistened with unshed tears. “What you did for him was more than kindness. You saved him, da’len. He has carried much fear and pain since the fall of Arlathan”.

“I’d thought as much. He was more than upset. He was grieving, but hadn’t given himself enough time to express it. Tonight was a catharsis for him. He’ll still need watching for a while, until he’s ready to put his pain to rest”.

Valoya nodded. “He will not be alone”.

“Good”.

Ellana was pleased when the sentinel beckoned. She’d expected to be led away somewhere, when Valoya waited for her instead. Together they walked along a path lit by braziers burning with ghoulish green flames. Valoya struck up a conversation, asking questions about life among the Dalish. Ellana thought she was humouring her until she said something odd.

“Loranil’s clan hailed from Orlais, but you are from Fereldan”.

“You want to know if the Fereldan clans were different from the Orlesian clans”.

Valoya smiled. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all. Ask away”.

* * *

Valoya brought her back to the fortress an hour later near dusk. Ellana was somewhat uncomfortable in her borrowed clothes. Everything was either too big or too small on her slender elven frame. Her underwear was tight if serviceable, though she’d opted to wear nothing until her own had dried. The merest suggestion of nakedness hadn't gone over well with her chaperone.

What was pragmatic for a Dalish rogue had horrified one of the few married sentinels.

Valoya had thrust a clean breastband and knickers at her, glaring until she'd relented. Then berated her for being indecent, something Solas had been fond of doing too. It was improper for an elven maid to wander around bare-arsed in a fortress full of unwedded elven men. She'd already caught the eye of several bachelors. A few of whom had plans to court her if she decided to stay.

“You can’t be serious”, said Ellana, thinking it was a load of codswallop. “I’m Dalish not one of the Elvhen. That alone should make me unacceptable. Why would they get it into their heads that I’m available? Then there’s my tragic history with Solas”.

Valoya dismissed her excuses with a wave of her hand. “Nonsense. You are young, fit and feisty. Solas loves you, but set you aside. A fact that caused much resentment among the youngest sentinels. Many of my people have never had the opportunity to pursue someone outside our Order”.

"And he did".

"You loved one another. You could have had a future together. Regardless of his reasons for rejecting you, Solas was wrong to do what he did. It did not go over well with my brethren still unwedded. Many of them have wanted to have families of their own for thousands of years”.

“But the opportunity never arose?”

“Our duty to Mythal came before anything we wanted for ourselves”.

That was news to Ellana. She’d never thought them capable of feeling sympathy for someone that wasn’t Elvhen. They’d shown her prejudice not empathy when first she’d visited the Temple of Mythal. Abelas had been hostile even after he'd offered her the chance to deal with Corypheus' forces. She’d had pointed ears too, but that hadn't softened his animosity.

His attitude had changed in the last two hundred years. So had that of his people - the gents in particular.

"While that makes sense”, acknowledged Ellana. “Why are your people mad at Solas?”

"He was selfish”, insisted Valoya. “Solas pursued you knowing that he had to tell you the truth about himself or cast you aside. He did the latter while the former came about because of the Viddasala's interference. Had the Qunari stayed out of Halamshiral. Solas would not have revealed his true nature to you or the Inquisition".

Then it all made sudden perfect sense. "We would never have seen him coming”.

Valoya nodded. "That was his intention, though the Ben-Hassrath acted first. He had little choice but to involve himself in your affairs. One stone, two birds. You cleared the paths the Viddasala and her people had used by accessing the Eluvian network".

"Allowing Solas to take it back without losing a single agent".

"That is what happened”.

Ellana was impressed even if she wanted to strangle him. "That opportunistic bastard. Using me as a bludgeon against his foes. Again. We're going to have a spectacular argument when he wakes up".

Valoya thought she’d judged her intent right. "You intend to help him".

"I wouldn’t put it like that. It sounds a little too optimistic”.

"You do not?"

She shrugged. "If Abelas wants me to wake him up. I will. But he never said anything about what'd happen afterward. So I'm going to exact my vengeance on Solas".

The sentinel was appalled. "You cannot kill him! If you try than it will mean your life!”

“Don’t be so dramatic”, reproved Ellana, dismissing the thought with a wave of her hand. “Why would I end his life when I can watch him squirm? He's been on a hook for eleven months. It's about time I reeled him in. I’m going to land him like a fish, then watch him flop about at my feet gasping for air”.

“That sounds like you intend to suffocate him”.

“That’d be too easy. I’m going to break his heart like he broke mine. Then I’m going to walk out of his life. Forever. You lot can pick up the pieces of what’s left, if there’s anything worth saving”.

Valoya was troubled when Ellana smiled with a flash of white teeth. The way she bared her incisors reminded the sentinel of a snarling wolf. She saw facets of Solas’ cunning, combined with a wolf’s relentless drive to chase down prey. It was terrifying to think that Ellana had adopted his worst trait. She was vengeful, but patient as if each opportunity could be used to her advantage. 

“You planned this”.

“Of course I did. Why do you think I disappeared from Solas’ life for a century? It doesn’t matter to me if you know the truth. Or even if you tell Abelas about it. I’m the only somniari within a thousand miles of this place”.

“We need you”.

“Solas needs me”, she corrected. “After saving him from himself. I’ll get to rub that fact in his face. I’ll have enough leverage to lord over him for the next century. It’s going to be beautiful”.

Her focus impressed Valoya. “You do not intend to do him physical harm?”

“It’ll be more emotional guilt and turmoil. He made me what I am. A petty self-absorbed felon with a heart of ice. I have moments of compassion, brilliance and even intolerable arrogance. I’m not sure how much of that is me or him”.

“Because of the Anchor?”

“Maybe”, Ellana mused aloud. “One way or another. We’ll soon find out”.

“Then I will not tell Abelas”.

She arched a silver brow. She gave the sentinel an appraising look, wondering if Valoya were playing a game too. “That’s mutiny”.

“It is justice. If you do not intend Solas physical harm. Who am I to stop you? Mythal once took him to task for his vanity and hedonism, but she is now dead. It is time for another to pull upon his leash, to make him see the error of his ways”.

Ellana's grin was gleeful. “Well that sounded dirtier than it should have. Solas the notorious bed-hopper, more agile than a flea. I’d wondered about all those naughty dreams I’d had. If he was that promiscuous in his younger years. How in the world did he avoid siring several litters?”

Valoya beckoned with a flick of her fingers. “Contraceptive magic. Now come along. We are expected to attend the evening meal. You must be hungry”.

“Enough to eat a druffalo”.

* * *

They were still conversing when Abelas met them at the foot of the stairs. Valoya made polite excuses, leaving Ellana to the leader of her order. The Dalish upstart, a newcomer to Solas’ table was causing another stir. She glanced at her minder, arching an eyebrow when he gaped at her attire. She picked at her shirt, a tad self-conscious until she barked.

“What?”

Abelas recovered his composure enough to pick his jaw up off the floor. He said nothing at first, feeling his cheeks heat. Ellana’s garments were modest if tight as if her bosom and hips didn’t fit into Valoya’s spare clothes. Her shirt was grey, the collar and sleeves embroidered with leaves and flowers. She’d donned a matching skirt, that while long and sensible was slit to mid-thigh.

He could see that she’d forgotten to put on the hose usually worn underneath.

A precarious shift of her hips sent the fabric sliding over her knee. He blushed at the sight of her bare bronzed thigh. The pose was made more provocative by the presence of her boots. Each was black and the length of her calf, the collar ending below the knee. The short wooden heel elevated her height by an inch or two.

What the boots did in conjunction with the skirt proved distracting.

Abelas had seen how she’d moved with her hips swaying. The skirt’s long grey panels whispering as the heels of her boots clipped the floor. The subtle bounce of her cleavage in time with each step a testament to Valoya’s mischievousness. Ellana’s hair was undone too. It fell about her shoulders in waves, then streamed down her back in a cascade of molten silver.

The streaks of red flowed from her temples in two bands, each the width of a finger.

That contrast coupled with the intense jade-green of her eyes was breathtaking. Abelas saw then what Solas had when they’d first shared a kiss in the Fade. She was beautiful until she flicked the tip of his nose. He lurched, stumbling and crashed into the wall with a clank of gilded steel. She grimaced, eyebrows furrowing as if he’d been a clumsy dolt.

“That’ll teach you”, she taunted. “I’m a person not a piece of meat you can ogle. I know my clothes are tight. Valoya didn’t have anything that fit so we made do. That doesn’t give you the right to stare as if my bosom’s going to pop out whenever I inhale. If you want inside my shirt at least have the decency to ask”.

She lifted her nose in the air, following Valoya inside the dungeon. She left Abelas there to pick up the pieces of his pride. He peeled himself off the wall, glowering when he heard someone snicker. He’d intended to invite Ellana to his own table, when he spied her taking a seat beside Arryn instead. She’d declined invitations from several bachelors, choosing to sit by someone familiar.

Valoya was there, along with her husband Ilcen. The introduction was polite, though Ellana came to an immediate conclusion. Her voice carried across the hall as Arryn offered her a plate and cup. She didn't notice or seem to care about the lack of cutlery. She was gracious, thanking Arryn even as she jabbed a finger at Ilcen.

"You're the moody redhead that was guarding the bridge!"

Arryn laughed for the first time in hours, his face wreathed in a smile. Valoya nudged her husband while he scowled, remarking on Ellana's terrible manners. She didn't take offence. She beamed at him, her smile beatific as if she agreed with his judgement.

"You've read me like a book. Let's see if I can live up to your woeful expectations. Could you pass the platter of meat? Oh, don't pout. I'm not a complete barbarian, even if I do prefer to eat with my fingers instead of a fork".

Abelas was envious by how easily Ellana engaged them in conversation. She picked at her plate, drank from her cup and spoke to them with the cordiality of an old friend. She fit in with an extraordinary mundanity as if she'd known them her entire life. He supposed she had if she shared part of Solas' magic and memories. He wondered how far that influence went.

Was it skin or soul deep?

* * *

The evening meal ended in an argument. Ellana refused to be excused from helping clean up. She was up to her elbows in suds, smirking when she passed Abelas another wet plate. He relented with an exasperated roll of his eyes. The plate was dried with a heating spell, a practical use of rudimentary fire-magic.

Ellana was impressed by his application and control. Water steamed away in a burst of white vapour till the plate was dry. He stacked it atop the other twenty she’d washed with a satisfying clink. He was still surprised by her enthusiasm to do chores. The domesticity of it had earned them an audience.

Several sentinels loitered about the dining tables, watching them wash, dry and stack. He was sure some were laying bets on who could do the dishes the fastest. A second and third pair of sentinel elves were doing the same task at their own tables. Each watching Ellana with a shrewd eye. She pretended not to notice, though Abelas saw how she never once broke rhythm.

A plate was dunked, scrubbed and passed along covered in bubbles.

Abelas accepted it, casting his spell.

The clink of said plate being stacked was repeated twice more. The staccato like the ring of a hammer on an anvil. Quick and concise till Ellana took up her last plate. She slowed a little, dunking the plate in her sudsy water several times. She was tardy in scrubbing it too.

She winked, finally passing it to Abelas. He snorted, rolling his eyes and dried it as he had the twenty-odd other plates she’d given him. He set the last atop the pile, drying his wet hands with the same spell. Ellana lifted her hands from the basin, copying him with a simple elvish word. Water steamed from her hands in streams of white vapour.

He was unimpressed by her bravado.

“Your assistance while appreciated was unnecessary”.

She shook her hands out. “I wasn’t going to let you bustle me back into Solas’ room without helping. Your folk fed me, Abelas. Where I come from it’s considered polite to do the dishes after a free meal. I’m not opposed to doing chores”.

He gave her an appraising look, pleased by the sleeves rolled up passed her elbows. Although a private individual, she’d retained much of her Dalish upbringing. She was used to sharing food, labour and resources. A fact that’d surprised him by how easily she’d accepted Valoya’s gift of clothes after her bath. She’d sat and supped with his people, refusing to shirk her share of responsibility after their meal.

She’d helped to clear and wipe down the tables, then volunteered for the washing up.

“Ellana”, called Abelas.

“Yes?”

He gestured to the cleaned and dried dishes, cups and jugs stacked atop their table. “Did your clan always share such duties?”

She smiled, cheeks dimpling. “Of course. Why?”

He returned her smile, shaking his head. “Ma serannas”.

She shrugged her shoulders, enthusiasm undiminished. “Unless I’m going to help pack away the crockery. Are you going to bustle me off into Solas’ room?” She wrung her hands with sudden nervousness. “You said I wouldn’t be alone with him”.

“You will not be”.

Ellana exhaled a sigh of relief. “Good. Who will stay with me then?”

“I will”.

She blinked at him, her brows arching in surprise. “You?”

“I am the best choice”, said Abelas. “The doors will be warded and guarded till morning. If you have need of anything. You have but to wake me. I will be near at hand”.

“I can work with that”.

He gestured for her to precede him across the dungeon. She gathered her skirts in her hands, giggling like a little girl. She curtseyed with a wink and a smile, before twirling on the balls of her feet. She let her skirts go, the grey material swishing around her ankles. She clipped and clopped her way to Solas’ door, bidding goodnight to anyone nearby.

The sentinel elves were charmed, many of them offering her a good-natured wave.

Even Loranil’s heart had softened somewhat, though he was still suspicious of Ellana. He emerged from Solas’ room with a handful of their healers. The group was small enough to be discreet, though they lingered outside. There were guards on the door, one of whom took the initiative. He gestured for Ellana to proceed him, following close behind when she entered Solas’ room.

Abelas was left with Loranil and his aides. The former stepping forth to speak to him. He kept an eye on Ellana as she returned to her wine-red armchair. The blanket Loranil had given her folded atop its cushions. She sat down on the ottoman, grey skirts shifting as she bent to remove her boots. The sentinel that’d accompanied her inside sucked in a sharp breath.

He’d caught sight of her bare bronzed thighs, then her shins, calves and ankles.

Ellana paid him no mind, setting her boots beside the ottoman. She then undid the topmost buttons of her borrowed shirt. A flick of her wrist and she’d opened the tight grey collar. Abelas heard her relieved exhale as she took a deep fortifying breath. He saw his comrade redden when her bosom heaved like an undulating wave.

A flush spread from the tips of his pointed ears down to the nape of his neck.

He was panting when Ellana rose from the ottoman, her skirts whispering. Abelas listened to Loranil with an attentive ear, though he watched her every move. She bent over, backside in the air as she swiped the blanket from the armchair. A slow arch of her spine like a cat as she straightened made her minder sweat. He was redfaced when she took a seat, swinging her legs up onto the ottoman.

Her skirts fell away to reveal muscled thighs, lean calves and dainty ankles.

Ellana rolled out her blanket, draping it across her knees till it fell about the ottoman. Her legs were covered by midnight-blue fabric, two inches thick. She snuggled into the chair’s padded cushions, making herself comfortable. She dozed after that, eyes closing until Abelas rejoined them. She roused at his touch, her temporary minder retreating to his post outside.

She blinked, eyes bleary until she spied a familiar face. “Abelas”.

“You could sleep on the couch. It would be more comfortable".

“I’m all right. You’re taller. You need the space”. She flapped a hand at him, yawning as she settled down to sleep. Her head pillowed on a large scarlet cushion with a fringe of golden tassels.


	6. Friends in the Fade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited. First draft.

She awoke in the same place she always did in the Fade. A bedroll inside a tent she’d once shared with a friend, though he’d often slept elsewhere. She flicked back her blanket, hair mussed as if she’d been slumbering for hours. She huffed, grinning when she heard a familiar voice remark on her state of undress. He snickered at the foot of her bedroll, his voice sweet as honey.

“Look what the cat dragged in. You look scandalous, darling. All mussed hair and wrinkled nightclothes. I’d ask who the lucky lad was if I didn’t know you better. Ellana Lavellan would never sneak back into bed after a late night rendezvous”.

She rolled her eyes, tossing her pillow at his head. “Oh, shut up”.

It was caught inches before it could hit him in the face. “Is that any way to treat your friends?”

“No, but you’re not my friend. Are you?”

Ellana’s smile faded, the corners of her mouth turning down. She sucked in a pained breath, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. The spirit that’d taken his form wilted a little, knowing what she’d said was true. It had his face, form and debonair charm but it wasn’t the man she’d adored. It was a construct built upon her memories of him from happier days.

He was tall and lean as a poplar. His swarthy complexion a product of long hours spent reading in the sun. His hair was longer than it’d been in the Inquisition, curling about his shoulders in silky black waves. There was a hint of white at his temples, though he didn’t look more than thirty-five. Gorgeous grey eyes peered at her over an aquiline nose.

His mouth curved in a smile beneath that manicured moustache. She saw a flash of white teeth. The slide of a pink tongue across the bow of his lower-lip. The goatee upon his chin, little more than a tuft of fuzz was trimmed to perfection. He was as gorgeous as she remembered him to be.

A woman’s wet dream come to life, though he’d only ever had eyes for one person.

A grey-skinned Qunari giant with boulders for biceps.

“Caught out again”, said the spirit. “But you can’t deny that I’m as fabulous as he was”. It took a seat on her bedroll, long legs folding beneath it. The spirit knew she'd question its existence until they reached an understanding. “Why can’t you accept me in this form?”

Ellana’s reply was tinged with sadness. “You aren’t Dorian”.

“I’m not trying to be”.

They’d had this argument a hundred times in the last decade. “You’re a spirit of Fear”.

It raised a slender brown finger adorned with a signet ring. It was wrought in gold with a mark engraved into the bezel. Flat, wide and in a perfect circle was a flower with six petals in the shape of a star. A reminder of home and the clan she’d lost in the Veil war. She braced herself for another go round, knowing that he’d never yield until she did.

Like the real Dorian, the creature wearing his face was stubborn too.

“I was Fear”, corrected the spirit. “You changed me. Remember? I don’t care who I was before. I love who I am now”.

“You’re still not Dorian”.

“That may be true, but I am your friend”.

Ellana opened her mouth to dispute the claim until she came to a startling conclusion. He was right. Where Dorian had died, leaving her alone. This infuriating spirit had stepped into his place. He was exactly like the her dearest friend in every way.

Flamboyant, brave and charming, but shrewd with a cunning to match Solas.

“I know”, she acknowledged at last. “I was wary of you because of whose face you borrowed. I loved him like a brother. Dorian was the closest thing I had to family after everyone in my clan died. No one could replace him, not even a spirit wearing his shape”.

The spirit’s cheeks dimpled when he smiled as Dorian had. There was light, love and joy in the expression upon his face. The steel-grey of his eyes softened in understanding. Dorian had often looked at her with empathy too. He’d held her when she’d wept, mourning the family and friends she’d lost.

“I can’t replace him. You know that. I took his form because he asked me to take care of you. I’ve tried to do that, but you’ve been terribly uncooperative. Even my amatus is cross with you”.

She thought on the second spirit that was his co-conspirator. “How cross?”

“Very. You’d best make your peace with him. He’s gotten bored of minding your wolf”.

“Solas isn’t mine”.

“That’s a matter of perspective”.

That got her attention. “Whose?”

“You’ve become his obsession in the last eleven months. Although the corpse with your face is rather depressing. Bull and I know it’s not real, but your wolf is possessive to the point of madness. He believes that his worst nightmare has come true. In losing you, he’s losing himself”.

That made her uncomfortable. “He still loves me. Fenedhis. Why can’t he leave me alone? I don’t want to be tied to him here or in the waking world”.

The spirit shrugged. “That’s an impossibility with the Anchor attached to your wrist. A leash is a leash no matter what form it takes. If you ever tried to break this one. It would be your end”.

He gestured to what passed for her left-hand. Ellana curled her fingers into a fist, sighing when it blazed bright as a bonfire. Her wrist, hand and fingers were transparent with translucent bones, veins and tendons. She had nails, a veneer of skin and a fiery example of Veil magic below her elbow. A gift not from Solas, but a wild spirit that’d inhabited the darkest reaches of the Fade.

“I never wanted it”.

“I know, but you have it none the less. Better you than Solas. You’re prettier and less of an arrogant prat. You’re kind even when spirits want to wrap themselves around you like a cloak. Although Bull’s put out a notice to keep the more aggressive spirits in check”.

“A what?” demanded Ellana.

The spirit smirked. “A notice, darling. He’s laid claim to you. He’s been broadcasting it far and wide across the Fade and the rest of Thedas. That’s why the desire and rage spirits have left you alone”.

“Oh”.

“They’ll keep leaving you alone if they know what’s good for them”.

She heard the unspoken threat. “Were you this protective of your former master?”

“I’m afraid you’re a special case”.

Ellana combed brown fingers through her hair, trying to tidy her bedraggled locks. Even in the Fade, the spirit that wore the Iron Bull’s face thought his friends were family. It’d been impossible trying to convince him otherwise. He adored her as much as the real Iron Bull had.

Dorian’s Fade-born double felt the same about her too.

“Courage”.

“That might be what I am, but it isn’t who I am”, declared the spirit. “I may not be Dorian, but I love you as much as he did. I’ve spent a hundred and thirty years wearing his face too. As far as the Bull and I are concerned, we’re not Dirthamen’s ravens any more. Fear and Deceit died the day you saved us from Fen’Harel”.

She snorted, rolling her eyes. “I recall you threatening to peck me to death if I refused to free Deceit. He got himself into trouble by trying to dupe Solas. He was outplayed at his own game by a better liar. If I’d known how much trouble you two would cause me. I’d have left him caged and plucked your feathers".

“Now that is a lie”, countered Courage. “You’ve ever been a bleeding heart, unable to ignore the slightest injustice. Who do you think altered our very natures? I turned from Fear to Courage, because you refused to let Thedas crumble when Solas tore the Veil. My amatus turned from Deceit to Honesty, because you showed him that some truths are absolute".

She shrank back from him, surprised and humbled. He was perceptive like Dorian too. He saw through the illusions she’d wrapped herself. He saw who she was beneath the bluster and bravado. A scared, lonely young woman with a heart so scarred it was encased in ice.

To feel compassion had been a death sentence during the Veil war. A vulnerability Solas had exploited time and time again. Losing Bull, then Dorian soon after had been the last straw. She was forever haunted by the memories of their final moments. It’d been war thereafter, till she'd fought Solas to a standstill upon a field of ash.

“Love is blind”, said Ellana. “Dorian knew that best of all”.

“That he did”, agreed Courage. “I know it too. He loved you as I do. Will you let me keep his name at last? I’ve more than earned it”.

The moment was bitter-sweet. “That’s quite a Dorian thing to say. If I agree. Will you stop arguing with me about it? Your obstinacy is infuriating”.

“Like Dorian?”

“Yes. Stop smirking”.

“I can’t help it. I’ve waited a century for you to admit that I’m amazing. Although as a gesture of respect to the departed. You can call me Doran instead. I’ll be Master Pavus’ long lost twin-brother”.

Ellana smiled, her lower-lip wobbling. “I’d like that”.

“So would I”.

Doran, the spirit of Courage tweaked the curled tip of his moustache. He winked at Ellana, relieved that she’d finally capitulated. It’d been a trying time to convince her that he wasn’t a facsimile of the late Dorian Pavus. He was himself even if they had the same face. He lifted his arm, offering a harbour of safety in the maelstrom of her grief.

She was soon on her knees, shuffling across the bedroll. She took a seat beside him, slipping under his arm. She sniffed, blinking back tears when Doran’s arm went around her. He pulled her tight to his hip, pleased when she laid her head upon his shoulder. He tucked her close, laying his cheek upon the crown of her head.

“Well this is touching”.

He smiled when Ellana nudged him in the ribs. “You’re spoiling the mood”.

“Quiet, darling. We’re sharing a moment of mutual despair. Don’t humans call it bonding? It's making me feel all warm and giddy on the inside. Like sipping a glass of mulled wine on a cold winter's day".

"You think bonding is like getting drunk?"

"Isn't it?" asked Doran. "Dirthamen was always in his cups when he got depressed or cheery. I'm not sure which version of him terrified the Elvhen more. A drunk scowling Dirthamen or a sozzled smiling Dirthamen. He always made a dent in the cellars of whomever he visited during the winter festivals".

"Really?"

"Of course! Why Solas hosted him several times at Mythal's behest. It was awkward to the point of hilarity. They shared a mutual hatred for each other. It was quite entertaining for the Bull and I to watch them dance about like two cockerels in a hen-house".

That intrigued Ellana. She knew of Solas' past life in Arlathan through what she'd gleaned from his dreams. It was something else to hear about it first-hand. She thought of Dorian, hoping that he was happy, safe and at peace by the Iron Bull's side. He and the spirit of Courage that'd taken his face and name might've been worlds apart.

But they were still her friends.

"Tell me about them?"

Doran grinned. "Digging for dirt on that arrogant prat?"

“I need every advantage I can get. Solas can petrify people with a thought. I can conjure blades from nothing, but I can’t turn people into garden statues. Then there's the issue of him living for thousands of years. I'm two hundred and thirty years old, the equivalent of a raindrop in a pail of water".

"He's the pail and the ocean inside it".

"Quite", agreed Ellana. "He's a smart bastard too".

"Are you sure?"

She frowned. "Why?"

"Solas fell in love with his greatest adversary. He’s done terrible things over the length of his life. He has regrets, even fears yet none have slowed him down. He rolled over Thedas like a wave of water, washing away the detritus left over from the fall of Arlathan. He restored the world of his time, yet it was your loss that crippled him".

"I don’t believe that for a moment”.

Doran took pity on her. "You haven't seen him. Solas' very soul is tearing itself apart. He doesn't think you're dead, he believes you are with every fibre of his being. That's why the Anchor reawakened. That's why you've had such terrible nightmares".

She was quiet afterwards, glad to be in the presence of a friend. It’d been years since she’d shared an embrace with Dorian. Although Courage and Honesty had been her companions for over a century. They’d first belonged to Dirthamen, a member of the Evanuris. She’d been leery of them for decades, never trusting them with more than she was willing to lose.

“Doran”.

“Yes, love?”

“Will you and Honesty stay with me?”

“For how long?”

“Always”, stated Ellana. “I’m tired of grieving. I’d like to learn how to live again”.

Doran smiled. “I’d thought you’d never ask”.

* * *

He led her down a set of steps cut into the mountainside. The ground was burning, the pervasive stink of ash and sulphur filling the air. What had once been a temple complex was a smouldering ruin. Piles of scorched bricks littered the ground like leaves. The figures of what’d once been men and women were bent and twisted.

Some lay supine, others prostrate with their faces buried in the rubble. A handful had been sitting, kneeling or standing when they’d died. Their faces a rictus of agony as they’d been engulfed by a magical conflagration. The explosion had incinerated the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Ellana’s memories of the disaster were as crisp as the day she’d descended into it with Cassandra, Solas and Varric.

“It’s the same”, she remarked, following Doran deeper into the landscape of her nightmares. “This was where it all started. Keeper Deshanna sent me to spy on the Divine Conclave. The Mage-Templar war had far-reaching consequences for all across Thedas. My clan had been in skirmishes with Templars insistent on hunting apostates".

Doran had more tact than most that’d asked about her past. “How many did your clan lose?”

“Too many”.

Ellana spied the misshapen figure of something that'd once been human. Its garb burned away until bare flesh remained. They were a lump of fried muscle and sinew wrapped around a broiled skeleton. It wasn't the contortion of the body, but the agony upon its face that perturbed her most. There was no skin, eyebrows, lashes or hair upon its head.

But there were holes where its eyes had been. The gaping cavern of a mouth between thin protuberances that'd once been lips. The tongue was gone, though she could see into the hollow of its throat. Two rows of teeth flat, white and perfect peeked out of its ruined mouth. The two halves of its jaws gaped in a silent scream.

She shuddered, averting her gaze when steam rose from the corpse in shimmering waves. She could feel the heat of it, even smell the stink of charred flesh. Laying the back of her hand across her mouth, she hurried after Doran. He'd waited at the bottom of the steps, saying nothing though his face softened with concern. He held out his hand in silent invitation, glad when her fingers slid into his palm.

"I hate this place".

"I know", he replied. "I'm sorry to make you retrace the path that irreparably changed your life. But this is where Solas returned to the day your heart stopped. He has lingered in these ruins for weeks, never once trying to leave".

That troubled Ellana. "Why?"

"That is something you'll need to see for yourself".

He led her by the hand down into the heart of the ruins. They rounded a corner, the ground uneven as they picked their way across. They passed more burned corpses, though Ellana refused to look at them. The dead were everywhere. They went through what was left of the temple walls and roof to an open area with a stone railing.

It had once been a pulpit for a Chantry priest to minister to the masses. Now it was the stage for what was left of the temple courtyard. Beyond the crumbled walls wasn't a gigantic glowing-green rift in the Fade. There beneath the eaves of a lone stone archway were two figures. One lying upon its back with a black pole thrusting out of its chest. The other cradling a silver head in its lap, rocking back and forth as it keened.

Doran brought her to the rail where another spirit waited for them. He was tall, burly and big as an ox. His shoulders broad and muscular. His torso the width of a tree-trunk. His skin was a dark steel-grey, the same colour as Doran’s eyes.

He had a set of bull-like horns upon his head. He had thick black brows, long lashes and a big grey nose. He sported a scruffy moustache upon his upper-lip and a thin goatee on his chin. He was scarred, though he lacked one essential feature. Where the Iron Bull had worn an eye-patch, he had two pale grey-blue irises.

He sat on the rail, muscled arms folded across the barrel of his chest.

“So”, he called. “You finally showed up”.

Doran scowled. “You heartless, lummox! She needed time!”

“Sure she did. I get that. Mortals grieve when people die or when things change so abruptly it alters their world view. War will do that. What I don’t get is why we had to babysit her wolf for the better part of a year”.

Ellana’s heart leapt into her throat. She squeezed Doran’s hand when he took umbrage. He was red-faced with fury and about to unleash a tirade when she stepped forward. He gasped, going quiet when she released his fingers. She stepped around him, tiptoeing as if she were creeping across a darkened hall at night.

“Ellana?”

The grey-skinned giant raised a clawed hand to silence his companion. Doran’s mouth closed with a frustrated sigh. He watched with trepidation when Ellana made her way over to the hulking form of Honesty. The spirit that’d borrowed the Iron Bull’s form uncrossed his arms. He looked at her, black brows arching and said one word.

“Well?”

She closed the distance between them, her breath hitching. Honesty heaved a sigh of relief when she stepped between his legs. She was short and slender with barely enough meat on her bones to please him. She’d finally found the courage to accept what he'd always known. Her thin arms wrapped around his waist with determination.

"Good", he rumbled, returning the embrace with unexpected gentleness. "You finally trust us enough not to possess your body. It's a nice change after spending a century listening to Courage whine about it".

"Hey!" protested Doran.

"Quiet", snapped Honesty. "You've had your time with her. It's my turn now".

The line of Doran's jaw tensed, but he conceded with a nod. "Fine, fine", he replied while flapping his hand in the air. "But don't get it into your big bald head that she loves you more than me. I'm the gorgeous, charming magister with a heart of gold. You're the brawny bodyguard I keep around for the muscles and conversation".

"And the sex".

Doran blushed. "We're spirits! We don't engage in such base physical interactions!"

Honesty snickered. "Yeah. Keep telling yourself that. I'll believe it when you stop bending over to pick things up off the floor. Right in front of me".

He grinned when Ellana giggled. He looked down on her, letting an arm slip down to the small of her back. He held her there, eyebrows waggling when his pectorals jiggled. Her smile was soft and warm though tinged with sadness. He was quick to soothe her troubled soul.

"You all right?"

She wiped a tear from her cheek. "I will be".

"Good", approved Honesty. He waited a handful of moments, sensing the change in her attitude. "So, about my name. I know it's shit timing to broach the subject, but it needs addressing. I look like the Iron Bull, but I'm not the real thing. Is that going to be a problem for you?"

She sniffed, loving him for his kindness and concern. "No. But you deserve better than having to step into someone's shadow. A friend of mine once suggested a slight change to the Iron Bull's name. It might work for you".

"I’m listening".

Ellana's smile was hopeful. "How about the Iron Dragon? Bull loved to fight them. Your horns are dragon-like enough to be intimidating. Although I bet Doran finds them excellent to hold on to".

"Cheeky".

"I try".

He repeated the name, getting used to the sound of it. "The Iron Dragon. It'd be appropriate if I decided to work as a mercenary. That's not something I'd do without you and Courage in tow. But you're fluent in Qunlat, so as a tribute to the Iron Bull. Pick a name for me from their language".

"You sure?"

He nodded. "Go on".

Ellana recalled the petrified Qunari standing before an inactive Eluvian. She'd spoken a phrase in Qunlat to the warriors locked in imperishable stone. She thought of one word that meant the tide of a restless sea. Then another came to mind that seemed to better fit their situation. If the Iron Bull was gone and this spirit personified him.

Was it not better to accept that change than dispute it?

"Meraad might fit”, she suggested. “But Meravas sounds better".

"So shall it be”, translated Honesty. “A little ominous, but it reflects my changed nature. I'll be Meravas in private, but the Iron Dragon will be my professional name". He inclined his head to Doran. "He's already nicknamed me Bull, although sometimes it’s Ox".

"During throes of passion?"

Doran sputtered, turning red. “Don’t tell her about that!”

Meravas smirked. "Only when he’s on the bottom”.

She was fascinated. “Care to share the steamy details?”

He winked at her. “Another time. We’ve got more pressing issues”.

Ellana frowned. “Doran said you were watching my over my wolf. Did you mean Solas?”

He patted her back. “No. You’ve got a problem, Boss. A big problem with a bad attitude and a mouth full of sharp teeth. Its been hunting him since the day that Vint asshole impaled you”.

“It was a lucky shot”.

“Too lucky. Your wolf is a nasty piece of business. It thinks you're dead too. It blames Solas, so its been trying to rip his throat out for weeks. He’s gotten slower, sloppier and too damned tired to keep it at bay for much longer”.

“So I need to save him from himself”.

“If you want him to wake up. Sure”, declared Meravas. “If you want him dead. Leave him to the wolf. But there’ll be a price to pay if you do nothing”.

“He’s right”, warned Doran. He’d joined them, leaning against the railing. He pointed down into the courtyard, at the figures beneath the archway. “If Solas dies in the Fade, he’ll be made Tranquil in the waking world. But so could you because of the Anchor”.

Ellana raised her left-hand. It shone like a beacon in the Fade beneath the transparent veneer of her skin. Magic had given her back a hand, though she’d never again been able to wield a man-made blade. The art of conjuration had been her only option. It hadn’t been easy mastering the Dirth'ena Enasalin, though she’d adapted the technique to suit her needs.

“Fenedhis”, she cursed, hating the predicament Solas had put her in. “What choice do I have?”

“An easy one”, advised Meravas. “Don’t save him. Save yourself. It’s a matter of perspective. You don’t owe him anything”.

Doran smiled. “Now that’s one way to look at it”.

* * *

Ellana gazed out into the courtyard, brows furrowing when she spied Solas. He was sitting there in the shadow of the broken archway, cradling a bloodied head in his lap. Locks of silver hair trailed over his knees like the gossamer threads of a spider’s web. Each strand slick, shining and matted with blood. His fingers brushed a scarred forehead, bronzed yet pale in death.

Her double lay there, impaled by an assassin’s spear. The shaft as long as she was tall protruding from her chest like the mast upon a ship. Blood had congealed around her mouth and nostrils, though most of it stained her armour. The ground was covered in streaks of red as if she’d been dragged across the courtyard. Solas leaned over her, bruised and brokenhearted.

“This is going to hurt isn’t it?”

“Quite a bit, I’m afraid”, cautioned Doran. “Once you enter his nightmare. You’ll feel every inch of that spearhead piercing your breast like a dart. You’ll have to pull it out by yourself too. While the injury isn’t real, your memories of it are so the pain will be excruciating”.

“Wonderful”, said Ellana. “You’re sure I can’t throw a rock at him instead?”

Doran appealed to his companion. He inclined his head to her, waggling his brows. “Amatus”.

Meravas took his cue. “It’ll bounce off. Here”. He tossed her a pebble, nodding when she caught it with a rogue’s dexterity. “Try”.

She took aim and hurled it across the courtyard. She swore when it struck some kind of magical barrier. There was a silver-white flash at the point of impact. The pebble bounced off, hitting the ground with a dull clink. It was then that she noticed the rocks, bricks and boulders of varying sizes littering the field.

“You threw boulders at Solas?”

Meravas shrugged his burly shoulders. “I got bored of watching him cry. You try sitting here for weeks, while he weeps like a bucket with a slow drip. The most exciting part of my stay was when the wolf showed up. Then that got old after the millionth time it tried to sink its fangs into him”.

“How exhilarating”.

“If you don’t want to help him. Fine. Save yourself and us instead. I’m dying of boredom in here”.

“So am I”, concurred Doran. “You’d be doing yourself and us a favour”.

They gave her expectant looks. Ellana put on the spot, while reluctant to agree did so out of obligation. She’d asked them to watch over Solas, making sure that he didn’t wake too soon. They’d done that in spades, leaving her indebted. If she intervened, she could hit three birds with one stone.

“I suppose that I can oblige you two this once”.

* * *

It was easier said than done. Ellana walked outside the barrier surrounding Solas. While she couldn’t see it, she could sense it enveloping him in the magical equivalent of a bubble. A cautionary tap yielded a silver-white spark that singed. She shook her right hand, swearing when she saw the blistered tips of her fingers.

“Ow! You rotten, bastard!”

Solas was a menace even when unconscious.

She gave Meravas a dirty look when she heard him snort. He waggled his eyebrows, winking at her while he snickered. Doran wasn’t much better. He was watching her, his grey eyes crinkling at the corners. He smirked in that infuriating way Dorian had, when he’d been amused by something.

“You might want to be more forceful, darling”.

“I’m trying to get through!” she hissed, taking offence. “It’s a magical barrier not a bloody keyhole I can pick! It’s not like there’s a door I can see! The barrier is invisible!”

“You can sense it right?” called Meravas. “All of that weird elven magical crap should be coming in handy right now”.

His honesty was wearing on her patience. He was as perceptive as the Iron Bull, though his observational skills were much improved. Having two eyes gave him an unfair advantage. He’d seen the flaws in her attempt to break into Solas’ nightmare.

Ellana’s lip curled. “Yes. I can. My weird elven magical crap senses are working. Do you have any actual suggestions that might be useful?”

“Hey. Don’t get snippy with me. I’m trying to help”.

She pouted, feeling guilty. “Sorry, Bull”.

“That’s better. Try using your left-hand. The Anchor will help”.

She was reluctant to comply. She glanced at the courtyard encompassed by Solas’ subconscious. She saw him there, hunched over her deceased double weeping like a child. His sobs were wretched, a high whine that crawled up his throat in fits and starts. It was nasally, thin and wet with a generous helping of snotty tears.

She frowned, doubting the sincerity of his distress. Solas was a liar when awake or asleep. Although his hitched breaths and miserable sighs sounded as if he were suffering. She couldn’t comprehend why he was so upset. They’d not been together since the day she’d left him on the battlefield a century ago.

Gaping at the knife buried up to the hilt in the ground between his ankles.

A statement and a warning.

“Tonight would be good”, called Meravas with a twinge of impatience. “Now would be better”.

Doran nudged him in the hip in remonstration. “Amatus!”

“You want to get out of this shithole as much as I do”.

“She’s trying!”

“She needs to try harder. It’ll be dawn in a few hours”.

Ellana rolled her eyes, their bickering reminding her of Dorian and the Iron Bull. When they hadn’t been flirting, they’d been arguing on the road. Sometimes poking fun at each other, sometimes nitpicking about their differences. Then there’d been the discussions about the Tevinter Imperium and the Qunari. While educational, their arguments had often ended in the bedroll inside Bull’s tent.

She’d been envious for weeks after her breakup with Solas.

“I’m going!” she cried. “Keep your horns on!”

She thrust her left-hand at where she guessed the barrier would be. She wasn’t concentrating or concerned until the Anchor sparked. Her forearm was encased in a sleeve of spitting and churning ghoulish-green light. A reminder of the swirling eddies of Fade-magic that’d poured out of the rifts in the Veil. She shrieked when the Anchor plastered her palm against the barrier.

Silver light danced across its surface.

She was stuck fast like a fly in a spider’s web. The Anchor pulsed, then she was sinking into it as if she were in a pit of quicksand. She was up to her wrist, then her elbow when she planted her feet. She yanked her arm, trying to free herself while her friends looked on. Neither spirit lifted a finger to help.

“Doran! It won’t let me go!”

“That’s the point, darling”.

Ellana was frantic. “Don’t just stand there! Pull me out!”

He shrugged. “You need to go inside. This is the safest way”.

She paled, her green eyes widening in alarm. “I don’t want too! Argh! It’s up to my shoulder! Bull!”

Meravas shook his horned head. “You need to face your fears”.

Her voice escalated, though her pleas fell on deaf ears. They watched her sink further and further into the barrier. The heels of her boots then her ankles and calves disappeared. She was soon up to her neck, the thick tail of her braid dangling like a rope. She tipped her head back till she caught sight of them, though they were upside down.

“Arseholes!”

Doran pressed two fingers to his lips. He blew her a kiss. “We’ll see you on the other side”.

Meravas waved at her, smiling from ear to ear. “See you soon, Boss”.

She sank with an infuriated scream, vanishing as she entered Solas’ nightmare.


	7. The Dread Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited. First draft.

She came to in a rush of agony that made her head spin. Everything throbbed from the tips of her ears to the heels of her feet. Her body was bruised, broken and full of holes. Her skin scraped raw as if she’d been dragged over hot coals. She felt like absolute shit thanks to the fool of an elf draped over her like a blanket.

“Fenedhis”, she croaked, her eyes fluttering open. She glanced not at the elf in whose lap she lounged, but at the spear lodged in her chest. The shaft was buried blade-deep between the cleft of her breasts, slicing her sternum in half. The pointed tip was stuck between her cloven heart and three of the vertebrae in her spine. It'd split the back of her armour, digging into the earth.

She tasted blood. The iron stink of it filled her mouth and nose. The sharp sour taste of wet metal was strongest across the back of her tongue. She remembered bleeding out like a stuck pig, though the Anchor had kept her alive. She summoned what strength she had, raising slick and bloodied hands.

She fumbled fingers shaking so hard it was impossible to grip the spear's shaft.

She stilled when grimy palms brushed her cheeks. She pressed her lips together in a grim line, not liking the owner of said hands familiarity. The pads of two thumbs were pressed into the corners of her mouth. A shadow crept over her face, blocking out the light. She felt hot breath on her skin, then the faintest touch of dry chapped lips.

“Leave”, commanded Solas, his voice rough. “You will not take her form”.

He thought she was a spirit of Despair, the daft twat.

“Then get off me”, demanded Ellana, her faint voice giving him pause. She saw the instant he froze, then blinked in startled horror. He leaned back enough to let the light permeate the darkness of his hair. It fell about her like a shroud, obscuring everything but him in her field of vision.

He was pale, wan and weary as if he hadn’t slept in days. The hollows were deep under his eyes, though the gauntness of his cheeks was worse. His skin was sallow, tinged a sickly grey as if he hadn’t seen the sun in weeks. His face was thin, the bones of his skull prominent from his temples to the line of his jaw. The months of endless grief had taken its toll.

He was exhausted though the tiniest spark of hope remained.

“Vhenan?”

“You look as awful as I feel”, whispered Ellana. She hissed when he shifted, the motion jarring the spearhead’s pointed tip. She groaned when he stiffened, her pained grimace frightening him. It hurt to think, even to breathe as her heart gave a dull pathetic beat. Cleaved in two though it was, she and it were still alive.

“Vhenan!”

“Don’t move. Hurts”.

“Ir abelas! What do I do?”

She raised trembling fingers to the spear in her chest. She tapped the shaft, trying to wrap her fingers around the bloodied wood. She was glad when Solas got the gist of it. He was an arrogant prick, but he wasn’t stupid. She felt a thread of irony take root when his calloused fingers grasped her own.

There was some strength left in him.

Solas pressed her hands around the shaft, giving her what grip he could on its slick surface. He looked down at her, his jaw tensing with fear. He knew what he had to do, though he was hesitant to accept that she was alive. Months of self-imposed exile in the Fade had weakened him in mind and body. He was a pale imitation of who he’d once been at the height of his power.

“I do not want to cause you pain”.

Ellana exhaled a bone-rattling breath. “You already have. This is nothing”.

He inclined his head, sniffling like a child. “I am so sorry, vhenan”.

“No”, she replied, not believing him in the least. “You’re not”. She looked into his eyes, seeing herself reflected in his grey-blue irises. She braced herself for the inevitable, her teeth gritting in anticipation. It would feel as if she’d been hit then trampled by a rampaging druffalo.

“Are you ready?”

A single shaky nod was enough.

Solas helped her yank the spearhead free in one swift sickening squelch. She screamed when it came loose, making his hair stand on end. He tossed the spear aside, uncaring when it clattered to the ground. Crimson droplets splashed onto the cobbles, staining the stone red. Solas whispered assurances as he laid his hands upon her breast.

Magic poured into her wounds, staunching the bleeding.

She writhed, her face a rictus of agony. The Anchor awakened at the gush of his healing spell. Emerald light spilled from the cavity in her chest, bathing the wound in tongues of veilfire. The air about them smouldered in waves of shimmering heat. Solas recognised the reservoir of his own magic.

He frowned though he never asked how it was possible or why.

He delved into it, directing it as the moon influenced the tides. It was a simple thing for him to use that magic to fuel the healing. Under his ministrations shattered bones knitted, torn flesh mended, and lacerated veins sealed. It might've been moments or hours, the flow of time different in the Fade. Solas refused to give in until he saw a dark pink line in the valley of her cleavage.

She slumped in his lap, panting as her bosom rose and fell. It still hurt, but she could breathe without feeling as if she were split in two. Her back ached, the vertebrae of her fractured spine pulled back into alignment. The discs of tissue between protesting when she tried to rise. Sinewy arms wrapped about her shoulders, pulling her back down.

“No. You must rest”.

She smacked his forearm, than his knee. “Let go!”

“Ellana. Please”.

She relented, hating that pathetic whine in his voice. He was weary enough to fall over himself, though he kept hold of her. Refusing to let go even for the briefest of moments. She was caught like a bird in a snare when he dragged her over the ground. He didn’t get far when the blades of his shoulders bumped stone.

He’d hauled her inside the archway as if she were a sack of potatoes.

He sagged against the innermost wall, looking up towards the roof. The archway was long and narrow, though more than seven feet across. Its highest point a smooth curve more than ten feet above their heads. The sight left Ellana somewhat confused. She didn’t recall their being a hollow archway in the courtyard of the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

“Wait”, she groaned, bewildered. “This was never here. Or we’d have taken shelter inside it from the Pride demon we fought beneath the rift”.

“Now you care about architecture”, complained Solas. “Fenedhis. I suppose coming back to life after dying gives one strange priorities”.

“Shut up”.

“It was not a criticism, vhenan”.

“You’re still a shitty, liar”.

She jabbed him in the belly with the bony point of her elbow. She was weary, but had strength enough to make his life miserable. His arm tightened around her neck in response, hard enough to choke. She batted at his forearm, gloved fingers digging into his wrists. His grip slackened though never enough to allow her to wriggle free.

She slumped against his chest, bosom heaving.

“Bastard. You damned near suffocated me”.

“I am not even sure you are real”.

“Let me go then”.

Solas bent his knee, the length of his gilded thigh rising against her hip. She was acutely aware of how he embraced her as if she were something precious. His arms were like a corset, his wrists crossed beneath her breasts. His hands clamped tight to her ribs. He didn’t intend to release her any time soon.

“No”.

“No?” taunted Ellana. “I thought you said I wasn’t real”.

He laid his cheek upon her shoulder, nose turned into the side of her neck. He snuffled like a dog till his sense of smell told him something strange. Many things could be replicated in the Fade. Events, environments, even people if the spirit could shift its form to fit a particular shape. Voices and mannerisms could be reproduced, though some things were impossible to copy.

Solas slipped his fingers inside the ragged edges of her cuirass. The leather parted like the petals of a flower. Ellana gasped when he caressed the thin fabric of her shirt. Sliced in two there was a gap for him to withdraw an object on a leather cord. It was long, flat and dark enough to resemble the hardwood of a tree.

He held it in the gauntleted palm of his hand, surprised and humbled.

It still had the sharp canines, the jagged carnassial teeth. The jawbone of a wolf taken from the mouth of the creature that he’d thought an ally. It was an ancient spirit, a reflection of himself in all the ways that’d terrified the Dalish. A wolf with an insatiable hunger, that lurked in the darkness beyond the edge of dreams. The perfect hunter that didn’t forgive a slight or forget a debt.

“You kept it”.

“Don’t mistake a trophy for sentiment”, advised Ellana. “I kept it as a reminder of the creature I’d bested on the battlefield. Not out of emotional attachment. You were and still are my greatest foe”.

Solas sucked in a pained breath, unwilling to accept the truth. “No”.

“Nothing has changed. We’re still at war”.

“No!” he cried, voice escalating. He dropped the necklace, letting it thump upon her chest. He cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand, fingers curling around her jaw. He tried to turn her head, pleading when she resisted. “Look at me!”

“Never! Let me go!”

She writhed like a worm on a hook. Armoured shoulders rolling, a silverite pauldron dug into Solas’ chin. Her legs kicked, the steel poleyns about her knees clanging as the heels of her boots struck the ground. She tried to elbow him again, though he locked her arms tight to her waist. He held on, refusing to let her go.

“Venavis! You must be quiet!”

“Why?” yelled Ellana. She tried to bite him when he slapped a gauntleted hand across her mouth. Her screams were muffled until he tensed like a drawn bowstring. He pressed his chin into her shoulder, grasp tightening to the point of pain. His fingers dug in like claws.

“Venavis!”

She stilled, the heels of her boots flattening on the ground. She stared beyond them into the courtyard outside. A shadow passed over the archway, blocking out the light. A gargantuan black paw the size of a dinner-plate planted itself in the rubble. Talons scraped the ground, sending a shower of pebbles into their hiding place.

She froze when a broad black snout hovered over the ground. A wet nose the width of her chest sniffed, its nostrils flaring. She heard it snuffle as it searched, trying to distinguish one scent among many. She flinched when it growled, the black lips of its snout peeling back. Where there should have been fangs and carnassial teeth, was a ragged mess of scarred flesh.

A red tongue licked the gap, flicking outwards like a snake to taste the air.

Ellana reached down to clasp the jawbone hanging around her neck. She raised it up, seeing it lie flat on the palm of her hand. The creature growled, its gigantic head turning. It seemed to sense that something was off. Solas let his hand slip from her mouth to her shoulder.

He gripped her pauldron in case she tried to flee. He watched the creature’s shadow retreat, though he didn’t relax. More paws followed, these as large as the first. Then a shaggy black tail that lashed the air in agitation. A guttural growl resounded like thunder as the beast turned around outside.

It’d found their hiding place.

“What is it?” asked Ellana in a tremulous whisper.

“Fen’Harel”, said Solas. “The darker half of my nature. The part of me that is the Dread Wolf. He loves you as I do, but your death aggrieved him. He tore the Fade to pieces until I trapped him here”.

“Why?”

“He would have killed everything and everyone to avenge you. Spirits, mortals, dragons and all manner of beasts if I had let him cross into the waking world. Thedas would have been awash in blood. I could not let him loose after everything my people have regained. Better to let him hunt me here in the Fade than to allow him to unleash his wrath upon the innocent".

His certainty dismayed her. “You mean to stay here”.

“We cannot leave without pacifying him first”.

“How you we do that?”

“There is only one way. He needs to know that you are alive”.

* * *

He pressed his nose into the curve of Ellana’s cheek. His hold had loosened, though he’d yet to set her free. He had an arm around her waist, while the other rested upon her thigh. He’d released her pauldron to claim the tail of her braid. Her skin crawled with apprehension when he flicked it up and down like a ball on a string. The thick end, bound with a black leather cord smacked the poleyn across her knee.

The repetitive thump grated on her nerves.

“Stop it!” she snapped, swiping at his wrist. She realised her mistake the instant Solas dropped her braid. She tried to pull away when he grabbed her hand instead. She curled her fingers into a fist when he tried to slide his own between her knuckles. The intimacy of the gesture made her stomach churn with revulsion.

“Ellana”.

“Don’t!”

“Look at me”.

She peered into the distance, seeing the grey brick wall of their shelter. It was seven feet wide, ten high and fifteen feet long. Each end open to the courtyard, the archway too small for their adversary to crawl through. That didn’t stop the wolf from prowling outside, whining like a pup in bewilderment. She heard it sniffing through the rubble, its claws scraping on stone as it followed her trail.

“He smells you”, Solas murmured in her ear. “Your scent confuses him as the sight of you confuses me. You were a corpse with the face of my beloved. Your lips cold and splattered with blood. Your chest punctured by the spear that cleaved your heart in two”.

“I was dead”.

“Now you are not”.

She was glad to be inside the archway when Fen’Harel snarled. He’d found the weapon that’d killed her. She flinched when she heard the crack of the spear’s wooden shaft. The blade was tossed aside, clanging as it disappeared into the rubble. Fen’Harel whimpered soon after, the outrage turning to longing as it lifted its fanged maw.

Its mournful howl raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

Solas’ arms tightened as the tears slipped down his cheeks. He mirrored the wolf’s misery, her loss so profound that it’d sundered their soul. “Look at me”, he begged. “Let him see through my eyes that you are here. Have pity and let us believe in the impossible”.

“Why?” she hissed, feeling spiteful. “I don’t owe you anything”.

“If you do not than we will die here”.

“So the truth comes out at last. You want to save your own skin. What am I to you then?”

“My light. My hope. My love. My redemption. My future”.

Her lip curled with indignation. “That’s not for you to decide”. She lifted a hand from the cage of his arms, shoving her fingers in his face. Her hand clamped over his mouth like a band of steel, muffling his protests. He struggled, hissing like a peeved tomcat until her head turned.

He froze when she arched a silver brow.

“Am I real enough for you now?”

Solas returned her gaze, breath hitching when he looked into her eyes. He found himself reflected there as if her soul were a mirror. His irises glowed with blue-white fire. The power residing in him awakening the magic inside her. He heard Ellana curse then felt her stiffen in his arms. The Anchor set her eyes ablaze, each iris and pupil engulfed in emerald flame.

“Vhenan. It is you”.

There was a sudden flash of intuition as if a door in her mind had opened. The room beyond it was dusty and filled with cobwebs. The air musty with the stink of rusted metal. The walls were bare mortared stone, the bricks splattered with dried blood. The flagstones in the floor were charred as if scorched by fire.

The room was long and wide, its roof so high the rafters disappeared in the gloom.

It was dark inside until a multitude of lanterns were lit as if by magic. She thought she saw flames behind panes of red glass. Then each light winked out as if extinguished. The room was dark again until the light returned with a flutter of lashes. She realised then that those weren’t lanterns but a multitude of red eyes in a sea of black.

A maw of jagged ivory fangs glinted like silver-white icicles.

She heard a guttural rumble so deep the ground shook beneath her feet. The tremor carried to the world outside, shaking dust and flakes of stone from the roof overhead. Ellana came to terrified enough to run. She thrust her hands at Solas’ chest in a panic, knocking him back. He fell against the wall with a grunt.

She tore herself free, bolting out the archway before he could catch her.

“Vhenan! Wait!”

The power of Mythal flickered, burning feebly before going out. He dragged himself to his feet, cursing when the back of his head throbbed. He wiped blood from the nape of his neck, scowling as he hurried after her. He knew that she wouldn’t get far with the darker half of his soul lurking outside.

He was right.

Solas emerged from the archway, squinting in the faux daylight. The Fade reflecting his oldest memory of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. He staggered into the courtyard, halting when he found Ellana. She was standing not three feet away, rooted on the spot like a tree. She stood still, neither advancing nor able to retreat.

A black wolf tall as an ogre blocked her path.

Its snout wrinkled when it smelt a familiar scent. Masculine with a touch of ink, parchment and sandalwood. Solas raised his hands to mollify it, though the beast snapped its jaws. He stilled not daring to take another step. The wolf snarled until its focus shifted. Two red eyes kept a watch on him, while a multitude of others regarded Ellana with interest.

“Solas”, she called in alarm. “He’s looking a me. What do I do?”

“Do not run. It is a wolf’s natural instinct to chase down prey smaller than itself. Stay still, stay quiet. Let him come to you, vhenan. He knows you are real and not an imitation created by the Fade”.

“You said he loved me”.

“He does”, he confirmed, breath catching in his throat. “As I do”.

Ellana lifted her chin, swallowing as she braced herself to be torn to pieces. Wolves in her experience had always been opportunistic. She’d seen Halla bucks, does and fawns brought down by a pack. Then eviscerated while alive, their entrails steaming in the sun. The wolves had snarled at each other, before gorging themselves in turns.

Their pack hierarchy such that the strongest always ate first.

She wondered in which order this many-eyed wolf spirit would devour them. Would Solas be first or would she? The idea left a sour taste in her mouth. She didn’t trust Solas any more than she’d trusted Leliana. Spies were notorious for their liquid sense of loyalty.

“Get on with it”, she taunted, ignoring Solas’ sharp remonstrative hiss. “Kill me if that’s what you came to do. I’ve faced crazed darkspawn magisters, dragons and false gods. I’m not going to turn tail and run. If you want to end me than you’ll do it while I’m watching”.

“Vhenan!”

“Be quiet”. She raised hands, fingers flicking as she beckoned. “Come on you great hairy, brute. Let’s see how far you get”. She crossed her wrists, magical blades materialising beneath her fingers. “I’m not afraid to die again”.

The wolf recoiled, whimpering as if it’d found the suggestion horrific. Its hackles rose, its shaggy black tail bristling. It paced on the spot, twisting left and right in restless agitation. It snarled at Solas, but that aggression disappeared when it turned to her. Its plaintive whine, perked ears and quivering black nose took Ellana by surprise.

“You don’t want to slay me?”

The wolf growled though it was far from hostile. She gaped in astonishment, hearing overtones of longing, affection and frustration. She blushed when the wolf licked its chops. A thick pink tongue lashed the fleshy gap in its mouth. Where she’d expected to find two rows of jagged fangs, there was a full set in its upper-jaw and half in the bottom.

The left-side of its lower mandible was missing.

Jawbone, fangs and all.

Then she heard it speak inside her head, its voice softer than velvet. _Vhenan_. That simple elvish word was filled with a love so profound it appalled her. She forgot her fear, more confused than angry. The conjured daggers in her hands vanished, the magic dispelling in a burst of violet smoke.

She recalled the red eyes in the dark.

The smell of old blood and scorched stone.

She said nothing, left-hand falling to the jawbone around her neck. She didn’t dare turn her head, aware of the man behind her. She felt the weight of his scrutiny, though she didn’t see his eyes shift from grey to scarlet. She swallowed with sudden nervousness, throat bobbing as she inhaled a shaky breath. She eyed the wolf, silver brows furrowing with uncertainty.

Ellana hoped that she was right.

The wolf sensing the change in her mood, ceased to pace back and forth. It turned towards her, whining with sudden earnestness. It inclined its head, black ears perked. It barked, its wet nose quivering when she took a step forwards. The elf at her back, sprouted fangs and inch-long talons upon each of his fingers.

She saw nothing of his shifting shape, her eyes fixed on the wolf.

The beast danced on its paws, wriggling like an eel in excitement. She quickened her pace, gloved hands pulling the leather cord from her neck. She lifted it over her head, silver braid catching on the knot. A deliberate tug yanked it free, though she didn’t offer it to the wolf. She grasped the jawbone instead, her fingers plucking at its ties.

The cord came away in one piece.

She let it flutter to the ground. She paused, feet going still. She offered the jawbone to the wolf, holding out her left-hand. It was cradled in her palm like a crown upon a cushion. She was wary when the beast approached, its huge black paws silent upon the rubble.

It was more careful now, picking its way to her with care.

Its sickle-sharp claws never once displacing a single pebble. It came forward with a slowness that belied its ferocious appearance. There was little of a wild rabid beast in its mannerisms. It neither snarled nor snapped at her. Its snout smooth, its red eyes soft inside a pelt of thick black fur.

It stopped a foot away, engulfing her in its shadow.

Ellana felt like an ant beneath a mountain. The wolf loomed tall as a tree, blinking its numerous red-eyes. Two looked beyond her, watching the elf scowling at her back. The rest were fixed on her, each with a single round black pupil. She took a fortifying breath when the wolf lowered its head.

In one swift motion, its jaws opened to expose the inside of its mouth.

The upper-jaw was full of white teeth, slick as a wet seashell. Each the length of her fingers, the largest teeth were the width of her palm. The lower-jaw was there, though half of it was missing. The left-side of the wolf’s mouth a ruin. The gums were shredded, its black lip a scarred mess of twisted flesh. It was as if the jaw had been broken then torn out by the root.

A devastating injury to a mortal creature that would’ve led to a long and painful death.

“Fenedhis”, swore Ellana. “Who could have done such a terrible thing? Spirit or not. No creature deserves to suffer such cruelty. Or to have half its face dragging in the dirt”.

She found her courage, taking those last tentative steps. She lifted the jawbone, positioning it right-side up. It was madness to put her head, neck and shoulders in the beast’s mouth. It could swallow her whole in one bite. She ignored her sense of self-preservation, leaning into a blast of hot lupine breath.

She smelt the smokiness of tea, spiced with mint and sweetened with honey. An odd combination when she’d expected the stench of carrion, rotting flesh and the muskiness of dog. She was reminded of Solas, sitting in an armchair inside the Rotunda in Skyhold. He’d hated tea, often complaining bitterly about it.

Yet the wolf’s breath smelt like the beverage he’d loathed with a passion.

It was a bitter-sweet reminder of happier days in the Inquisition. Overcome by nostalgia, Ellana was buoyed through her fear by her memories. She laid the jawbone upon a pink tongue as long as she was tall. She stared when the scarred skin and flesh on the left-side of its mouth split. It was a macabre sight, pale tendons and red blood vessels latching onto bone.

“Fenedhis!” she swore, eyes widening in alarm when the jawbone quadrupled in size. Sinew writhed like worms, twisting and turning around it. The bone was positioned then drawn into the open wound. Ellana turned her face away, grimacing. She heard a sickening squelch then a twang like the plucked string of a lute.

The sound was sharp and discordant.

She turned back intent on seeing what'd happened. She flinched when something rough and warm closed over her eyes. She saw darkness then felt the unevenness of what could only be callouses against her lids. She gritted her teeth, lips pursing though she wasn’t given the chance to protest. She was turned, then pulled forwards until her face was pressed into someone’s shoulder. She smelt parchment, tinges of ink and the earthy spice of sandalwood.

Solas.

“You should not witness the change”, he advised, laying his cheek against her temple. “It is grotesque enough to give the most stalwart warrior nightmares. Even if I could not deceive you, I would spare you from that horror. There are some things that no one should ever see. I will let you go once he has resumed his natural form”.

She struggled to free herself, unsure if she should be offended or grateful.

She stilled when she heard an inhuman wail then the crack of bones breaking. She refused to look up, burying her face in his throat. She kept her eyes closed, shivering in dreadful anticipation of what was to come. She heard the transformation of a wolf into an elven man. The ripple of fur shrinking inwards, the stretch and snap of skin pulled taut over a bony frame.

It was a comfort to have someone’s concern, even if that person was Solas.

Or so she thought until she felt the prick of claws against her scalp. She tensed though she wasn’t afraid. Bull had ceased to file down his claws in the years after the disbanding of the Inquisition. He’d held her close whenever she’d been upset, stroking her hair with her head pillowed upon his bare chest. His heart beating like a drum beneath her ear, had chased away the terrors that’d haunted her dreams.

“Hush”, soothed her rescuer as he cupped the nape of her neck. “It will be over soon. You need but wait a little longer. I will keep my promise. I will set you free”.

It was strange to hear Solas speak of promises and freedom.

He’d so readily sowed lies like seeds in fertile soil. Many dalish had fallen for his promises of elven longevity and mastery over magic. Many had died after the tearing of the Veil, either driven mad or possessed by demons. More had perished during the Veil war. Ellana thought her own survival a curse instead of a miracle.

Her would-be rescuer seemed able to read her thoughts.

He took umbrage, hissing in her ear. “You are a gift. A rare and precious flower that grew in the darkness of our absence. A descendant of those that survived the fall of Arlathan. You are proof of elven resilience in the face of overwhelming tragedy”.

She trembled when he kissed her cheek, the hot brush of his lips like a brand.

“That strength must be respected. Your people are not shadows wearing vallaslin. You are our future”.

To hear those words in Solas’ voice shocked Ellana.

She raised her head to gaze at the man that’d taken her into his arms. She gaped when she saw his face. He had Solas’ wide forehead, thick black brows and long aquiline nose. He had the same sharp cheekbones, sumptuous mouth and dimpled chin. Yet his eyes weren't grey-blue but red with a round black pupil.

He had Solas' black hair, though it was bound in a series of thick braids.

"Do you know who I am?"

Ellana's mouth quivered as she said the one name that came to mind. "Fen'Harel".

He smiled with a flash of white fangs. "Andaran atish'an, ma vhenan".


	8. Making a Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited. 2nd draft. Correcting of minor errors.

It was an awkward moment. Ellana exhaled a wary breath, silver brows furrowing. She heard the hiss of smoke rising as if from a doused fire. Then the ruffle of fabric as if someone were pulling on their clothes. She refused to turn around, not wanting to see Solas’ bare arse.

“Is he getting dressed?”

“He is”, confirmed Fen’Harel, though he didn't care about Solas. He only had eyes for her. “You are not the least bit curious? He has a fabulous arse. Who could blame you for taking a peek while in the Fade?”

She glared at him. “I’m not a voyeur”.

“No one would know”.

“You would. That’s risky enough”.

He winked at her, teasing. “For others, but not you”.

“Only a fool would trust the Dread Wolf”, she replied with an emphatic shake of her head. “The elders of my clan made certain, I knew the dangers of consorting with you. No thank you, if you love Solas. You can keep the knowledge of his nakedness to yourself. I’m more interested in knowing whether you intend to keep your promise”.

“Ah”.

“You said that you’d set me free”.

He smiled, cheeks dimpling. “So I did”. He let his arms fall from her waist and shoulders. He stepped back holding his hands high to mollify her. “You are free”.

“That’s a matter of perspective”.

“Quite. But you found your way in here did you not? If every door has a lock”.

Ellana didn’t trust him. His statement while true implied something important. If she’d found a way inside Solas’ nightmare than she could find the way out. Fen’Harel smirked when she glanced at her gloved left-hand. He radiated smugness like light from a lantern, his red eyes gleaming.

“Then every lock has a key”, she agreed.

“You have that key”.

She snorted. “I’m not letting you out”.

“I did not ask”.

“Says the spirit that cloaked himself in the skin of the man I despise”. She ignored the startled hiss from behind her. She was aware that Solas was eavesdropping. “You tried to deceive me, but I’m neither stupid nor gullible. Dealing with your traitorous lesser-half taught me to be wary of whom I trust”.

“A costly lesson to learn”.

A tense silence stretched between them. Fen’Harel gazed beyond her to Solas, hovering at her back like a shadow. His lip curled in distaste, revealing an ivory fang. He would’ve spat at his feet if Ellana hadn’t stood between them. He glowered at Solas instead, red eyes narrowing.

“He never did think his schemes through”, declared Fen’Harel. “Solas is rash and impulsive, never considering the consequences of his actions. I counselled him against raising the Veil. He did it anyway, wreaking havoc across Elvhenan. Thousands of elves were stranded beyond the Veil, unable to return home”.

Ellana knew that he spoke the truth. She remembered the broken spirit of Connection in the ruins of the Vir Dirthara. The library had been reduced to rubble after five thousand years sundered from the Fade. She'd learned who had been responsible for the destruction of Elvhenan. The loss of thousands of elven lives in one event had changed Thedas forever.

“I know”, she replied, voice flat. “The spirit of Connection in the Vir Dirthara told me as much. Although not the how or why of it. If you cautioned Solas against raising the Veil. How did you end up bound to him?”

“He found me”, said Fen’Harel. “I was entombed on an island, east of what is now known as Seheron. I was too wild, violent and unwilling to bend to Mythal’s will. She captured and imprisoned me in a place far from the shores of Elvhenan. But when civil war threatened her empire, when the Evanuris sought to overthrow her”.

“Solas was the only ally she had left”.

“In desperation he persuaded her to reveal the location of my tomb. He found me, then made an offer I could not refuse. In exchange for my freedom, he wanted my help to fight the Evanuris. We made a bargain. The rest is history”.

“What kind of fool makes a pact with a demon?”

“Spirit”, corrected Fen’Harel. “I am not a mindless spectre intent on possessing a mage. I can think and feel. I have ambitions as you do, desires and fears. Is it so terrible that a creature such as I could understand you?”

“That’s an excuse to poke your nose where it doesn’t belong”, accused Ellana.

“A necessity. You have gotten yourself into serious trouble on several occasions. Someone had to look out for you. So I did when no one else could. I was afraid you would die”.

“Why?”

“I will not spend eternity alone”.

She was wary when his face softened, the corners of his mouth turning down. The way he looked at her as if she might disappear spoke volumes. There was naked fear in his eyes. His breath hitched when she stepped backward, increasing the distance between them. He raised a clawed hand, pleading with a perturbing sense of wrongness.

“Do not leave me!”

Ellana set the heels of her boots on the ground. She stared at him, her eyes wide with incredulity. She heard the piteous whining of a pup denied attention. She knew it came from Fen’Harel. He pouted like a distraught child, the expression peculiar on Solas’ face.

“You’re making that noise”.

He sniffed, looking ashamed of himself. “I am”, he admitted, blushing with embarrassment. He bared his fangs to save face, though there was little aggression in it. He frowned instead, making a conscious effort to stop whining. It softened when Ellana stood still, then faded with palpable relief.

“Why?”

“Stay and you will find out”.

She scowled, considering if that were wise. “I don’t trust you”.

“I know. I do not have the best reputation when it comes to the Dalish. I would apologise, but the legends of your folk are quite accurate. Yet if you gave Solas a chance. Could you not do the same for me?”

She was suspicious of his motives. Demons tried to persuade, trick or compel a person to do their bidding. Fen'Harel had disguised himself to deceive her, until his plan had unravelled. She’d believed he was Solas until that little flash of insight. She’d seen more than he’d intended too.

There was also that one nagging issue.

“You tried to suffocate me”.

Fen'Harel snorted. “You jabbed me in the belly, an inch above the crotch. It hurt”.

“You’re wearing armour!”

“It is fake. Obviously”.

She blushed. “I suppose that makes us even. Fine. I’ll make an exception this once. You deserve that much for a near-gelding”.

“Ma serannas”, he replied, beaming at her with a flash of white fangs. “You are too kind”.

Ellana was still wary of him. Something bothered her too. “Solas implied the Dalish legends about the Evanuris were wrong. Abelas said as much too. How then could my people be right about you?”

Fen’Harel dismissed her statement with a flap of his hand. “The Elvhen know the history of the Evanuris, not the history of the spirits of Thedas. My folk and I existed at the dawn of time, long before the elves, the kossith, the dwarves and the shemlen. The dragons are as old as we are, although the Titans predate us. Then there is Amaevhen, the Mother of Flame who presides over all living things”.

It was strange to hear a spirit speak of the Elvhen as if they were babes. She was less inclined to trust him than before, but she sensed he was telling the truth. It was less a certainty, more a feeling in the pit of her gut. She wondered if Fen’Harel was Solas’ opposite. An honest creature where the man that’d professed to love her was a habitual liar.

“Was that meant to impress me?”

“Clever, beautiful and with a tongue like a blade”, praised Fen’Harel. “I would let you flay me with it in a more intimate setting. Excluding present company of course. I am not trying to impress you. It is a mere fact that I am older than Solas”.

In that moment she didn’t care about history. “You’d do what?”

Her preoccupation with that one delicious thought pleased him. It’d been centuries since he’d taken a lover. It would be a delight if she were willing, though she was far from ready. Solas’ betrayal had broken a part of her beyond mending. Her heart lay behind a wall of ice, that would take more than charm to melt.

“I’d offer myself to you like a virgin sacrifice”, he teased with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows. “Depending on how you wanted me. Naked on a bed of silk or with my hands tied behind my back. We could even use a blindfold”.

She reddened, appalled. “You’ve got to be joking”.

“I never joke”, countered Fen’Harel with a playful wink. “I am the opposite of my inhibited counterpart. Solas struggled with his affection, rejecting you to preserve his loyalty to Mythal. A decision I challenged after our final confrontation with Corypheus. He refused to acknowledge that I was the reason you were in our lives at all”.

That took her by surprise. “What does that mean?”

“It was not Divine Justinia that gave you the Anchor. I did when you took hold of our foci in the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It was my prison. The place where Solas locked me away after the Fall of Arlathan. The cell in which I resided for five thousand years”.

Then it came to her with sudden clarity. “The room with the walls splattered in dried blood. The floor blackened and scorched as if by flame. The air rife with the stink of rusted metal. That was the inside of the foci?”

“I gave you a glimpse into my past. I was the beast incarcerated inside the heart of a dead titan. I was the spirit chained like a criminal after helping Solas avenge Mythal. I saw you first in the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I gave you the Anchor that would bind us together”.

The revelation horrified Ellana. She backed away from him, gasping when calloused hands gripped her shoulders. She twirled on the balls of her feet, knocking Solas aside with a thrust of her palm. He stumbled, pressing a hand to his sternum. She’d struck him hard enough to hurt.

“Ow”.

“Don’t touch me!”

Solas raised a hand to mollify her, nodding in acquiescence. The pointed tips of his ears poked through the strands of his hair. Long and black it fell about his shoulders in silky waves. He shied when she glared at him, aware that his clothes were rumpled. He wore a linen nightshirt and the loose britches he used for sleeping.

His hair was tousled as if he’d rolled out of bed.

“Ir abelas, vhenan”.

His choice of endearment enraged Ellana. She intended to take him to task for it, but what came out of her mouth shocked them both. It was not a scathing reprimand, but a critique of his wardrobe.

“What kind of man wears britches to bed?” she demanded, infuriated by his nightclothes. “I can’t believe you’re dressed like that! I’m in armour! Fen’Harel is too! But you’re parading around as if you’ve stumbled out of a brothel!”

Solas’ brows arched into his hairline. Her anger confused him. "My clothing upsets you?” He picked at his shirt, aware that the collar was open to his navel. He glanced down at his britches, checking to see if the laces were undone.

Ellana averted her eyes when he hitched up said britches. She bit her lip, hearing the rustle of fabric being tied and knotted. She cringed when he cleared his throat with a hoarse cough. She’d seen more of him than she’d wanted too. It was beyond embarrassing.

“I am presentable”.

She didn’t dare look at him. “I don’t need a second flash of your cock to know you have one”. She regretted her words when Fen’Harel snickered. She whined sick of her lot in life. “Why does weird shit I can’t explain keep happening to me?”

“Ir abelas, vhenan”, apologised her estranged beau.

She grimaced, shuddering as if he’d walked over her grave. “Stop calling me your heart. I know your love is a lie. That ruse ceased to work on me a hundred years ago. It wasn’t real”.

Solas recoiled, sucking in a startled breath. “How can you think that? After everything we endured together fighting Corypheus. I left you out of necessity, not because I wanted too. I loved you then as I love you now”.

“That’s a load of codswallop”.

“Ellana!”

“Your love was a fabrication like the man you became to infiltrate the Inquisition. There were instances of truth, but it was part of your plan. I was a pawn like Cassandra, Cullen and Leliana. You put me into play when you were at a disadvantage. I can’t fault your cleverness even if I know you’re a heartless bastard”.

He swallowed the bitter pill of his own pride. He glanced from her to Fen’Harel, mistrustful when his double smirked. That smug toothy smile was reminder enough of their quarrelling. He’d spent the last two hundred years at odds with his inner-wolf. Fen’Harel had warned him not to deceive Ellana least it bite him in the arse.

He’d been right.

The love of his life thought his feelings for her were a lie. It was as if she’d stabbed him in the heart then twisted the blade. He knew it was true. Although a rogue by profession, Ellana was an honest woman. She understood deception even subterfuge, but not when either involved the elven heart.

The Dalish believed candour fostered trust in their relationships.

So did she.

“I lied about many things, but never that”, insisted Solas. “You are precious to me. I love you, Ellana. I always have. I know my own heart”.

She regarded him with distaste. Even when sincere, he was a liar. She snorted, shaking her head. She couldn’t believe his audacity. To justify betrayal by disguising it as affection.

“Then why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

Solas sucked in an anguished breath. His eyes welled with tears at the scornful curling of Ellana’s lip. He tried to blink away the shame, lashes fluttering when she looked down her nose at him. There was pride in her bearing, a profound disdain that sent shivers down his spine. He’d expected hostility and derision, but not such open loathing.

“I had my reasons”, he declared, reluctant to admit any wrongdoing. “You would not have understood”.

“You arrogant, prick!” snapped Ellana. “I pardoned Thom Rainier after he’d spent months pretending to be Warden Blackwall! I spared his life even after I’d learned that he’d orchestrated the massacre of Vincent Callier and his family! He was my friend, my comrade-in-arms! I refused to let Celene Valmont murder him as she had thousands of elves!”

“It is not the same”.

“Thom was guilty! So were you! I might have understood if you’d been honest with me! But you never gave me that chance! So if we’re out for ourselves than it’s my turn to be selfish!”

She ignored him, addressing Fen’Harel instead. She offered him her left-hand that glowed like a lantern. Her fingers and palm bare, the skin transparent like a pane of glass. Pale bones, arteries and veins glistened in a magical facsimile of nature. The band of scar-tissue below her elbow had been the price paid for what she’d lost.

“Take back the Anchor. I want no part of him or you in my life”.

Fen’Harel glanced from her hand to her face, comprehension dawning. His red eyes widened with disbelief. After all they had survived together. She was willing to risk her life to be free. It was a novel approach to an untenable situation.

“You would sever yourself from us?”

“Gladly”.

“Even if it meant your life and sanity?”

Ellana snorted at if he’d said something amusing. “I have lived long enough. If I can't die by my own hand, or be slain in battle than you have an obligation. You ensnared me, so if you’ve any decency left in that hole of a black heart. Set me free”.

She’d caught him off-guard.

Fen’Harel thought she’d asked for something unforgivable. The silence that passed between them was fraught with tension. Ellana let her hand fall to her side. She thought him a fool. Meravas had been right, he loved her as Solas did.

But not enough to let her go.

“You are my, vhenan”, he replied in Solas’ voice. “To hurt you is to hurt myself. I cannot. We are bound because I needed you to escape my prison. Now I would stay with you, forever because I love you”.

“That’s not love!” she hissed, taking umbrage. “You used me like Solas did! A shield against your enemies! A sword to strike down your foes! You don’t get to decide the course of my life!”

“I would share that life with you”.

“After everything I’ve suffered because of you! After everyone I’ve lost! You have no right to ask that of me! Let alone to think that I’d accept it! Harellan!”

Fen’Harel flinched at the accusation. He’d been called a traitor by elves and spirits, the living and the dead cursing his name. The word a stain on his honour that’d never washed away. It’d clung like a burr since the Fall of Arlathan. It was a constant reminder of Solas’ short-sightedness.

He was ashamed of his association with the troubled somniari.

“That is unfair of you, vhenan. I was locked inside that foci for thousands of years, while Solas slept in Uthenera. He sacrificed us both in his crusade against the Evanuris. He betrayed me as he betrayed you. Is it so terrible that we have something in common?”

Ellana went quiet, her lower-lip trembling. She frowned, shaking her head. “We are not the same”, she insisted, her voice thick with emotion. “I never asked to be given the Anchor, or to watch a thousand people be burned alive. You served me to Corypheus on a silver platter like a side of pork”.

“That was before I knew you, before I loved you”.

“A pathetic excuse. We both know that I was the key you used to pick the lock of your prison. A convenient tool to guarantee your freedom. Now you speak of love as if I could forget or forgive you for ruining my life. You gave me the Anchor, thereby painting a mark on my back”.

“Vhenan”.

“The shemlen blamed me for Divine Justinia’s murder!” she cried. “Do you know what they do to elves they consider traitors? They brutalise, torture and kill them! That would’ve been my fate if the Chantry had gotten hold of me! So don’t stand there and tell me that I’m your heart!”

“You are”, growled Fen’Harel. “You always have been. I am a monster, but I never wanted to hurt you. I did what I could to help you during the Veil war. It was no simple task to avoid rousing Solas’ suspicion. We are bonded and he is a powerful somniari”.

“Am I supposed to be grateful that you turned my world upside down?”

“I helped you save countless lives”.

Ellana took offence when he reminded her of the Anchor. A foreign magic that’d cost her a limb. She thrust that phantom left-hand under his nose. Ghoulish green lightning crackled beneath the translucent veil of her skin. It radiated along her glassy bones like electricity coursing across a steel rod. It prickled like tiny needles, far from painful but with presence enough for her to know it was there.

“You gave me a magical construct of the hand that was severed from my body. When it appeared after my last encounter with Solas, I couldn’t leave Skyhold. I had to wear gloves or risk being identified as the famed Inquisitor. People may not have known my face, but they knew who I was when they saw my left-hand. Your idea of help led assassins to my doorstep”.

“You survived”.

Solas saw the gloved digits of her right-hand curl inward. He knew what was coming when she planted her feet, the ankles of her boots creasing. Ellana had a short temper when riled, though she didn’t often lose her patience. Solas knew it was dire the instant he saw the flash of violet, a conjured blade appearing in her fingers. He rushed forward, intervening before she sunk that blade into Fen’Harel’s jugular.

“Nae!”

He caught Ellana around the waist, gasping when her weight shifted. In a single moment the world turned upside down. He was thrown over her shoulder, then he was falling as she twisted like a snake. She bore him to the ground, digging her knee into his sternum. Solas hit the flagstones, wheezing as the violet edge of her blade slid under his chin.

He froze feeling the dagger bite into his skin. He peered at Ellana, conscientious that she could end his existence. If he died in the Fade, in the real world he’d become Tranquil. An emotionless husk, incapable of dreaming or rudimentary spellcasting. The disconnection permanent unlike the Right of Tranquillity favoured by the Templar Order.

When Solas saw her face, he recognised a part of himself he’d tried to forget. There behind the eyes of his beloved was a hunter sleek as a cat. A wolf lurked in the shadows of her spirit, its jade-green eyes narrowed in fury. The long bridge of its snout wrinkled as it bared pale silver-white fangs. He was afraid when she considered him, inclining her head as she turned that blade against his throat.

“Should I?” she asked him, cold as ice. “You deserve nothing less than to walk the waking world forever severed from the Fade. To live your life without magic or the slightest care in the world. Would you starve, I wonder by forgetting to eat? Would you die of thirst if no one told you to drink?”

Solas was afraid to breathe. If Ellana was as cruel and calculating as he’d once been. Then she would do what he had to Felassan. One life sacrificed for the betterment of all. If she cut the King from the board, it would be a decisive victory against the Elvhen.

So he asked for mercy.

“Spare my life”.

Ellana arched a silver brow. “Why should I?”

His lower-lip trembled. “My death would start a civil war. Neither your people nor mine can spare the blood. Sheathe your blade. Have we not seen enough death?”

“But you wouldn’t be dead. You’d be Tranquil. A mage unable to dream or perform the most basic spells. It’d be torture except you wouldn’t feel fear, love, pain, sadness, loss or regret. You’d be as empty as an overturned goblet”.

Solas recalled how Felassan had died. He’d thought to be merciful. To be alive but to walk through the world half-asleep, wide awake yet never dreaming. A somniari forever locked inside their own skin. It was a fate he considered worse than death.

He was afraid until a shadow fell across his face.

Fen’Harel stepped forward, intervening on his behalf. “You have frightened him enough. Let him go. To kill him would put yourself at risk. We are bound to each other”.

She snorted. “So what affects Solas, affects us?”

“In a sense. Would you care to test that theory?”

“I suppose not. Abelas would never forgive me. I promised to wake him, though I never said he’d be sane when he did. It’d be safer for us all if his fangs were broken. That way what happened in Arlathan could never occur again”.

“Is that what worries you?” scoffed Fen’Harel. “Please, vhenan. Solas is quite incapable of raising the Veil. He lacks the strength, even if he possesses the knowledge. Our bond fetters him hand and foot”.

That got Ellana’s attention. She reflected on what’d happened to her after the tearing of the Veil. The bleaching of her hair from red to silver-white, the painful prickling in her left-hand. The magic that’d rolled in like a wave, drowning every elf in a deluge of panic and confusion. The chaos had twisted peaceful spirits into their monstrous counterparts.

She shuddered recalling the fishing village of Wycome erupting into flames. Members of the local populace brandishing axes and pitchforks. Vengeful spirits of Rage, Fear and Envy rampaging through the streets. Men, women and children possessed then turned into Maleficar. The village overrun in a matter of hours.

A hundred souls perishing in a single night.

Her grip on that conjured blade tightened. The line of her jaw tensing, her lips peeled back to reveal gritted teeth. She glowered at Solas, hating him with every fibre of her being. She was wary when she saw his brows furrow, then his eyes turn dreary like a thundercloud. The tears welled then overflowed, slipping down his cheeks like rain.

“Ir abelas”, he apologised, voice cracking. “I never knew. You must believe me. My agents reported that you had returned to Skyhold after a sojourn in Kirkwall. You were supposed to be safe inside its walls, not still in the Free Marches”.

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “What?”

“You were supposed to be safe!” reiterated Solas. “The wards I set around Skyhold would have kept the demons out! That is where you were meant to be during the tearing of the Veil! Why were you not there?”

Ellana gaped at him, incredulous. She twisted her wrist, turning the blade aside. Solas made the mistake of thinking she’d relented. He realised his error when she thrust that blade downwards. It descended in a straight line, missing his ear by an inch.

It grazed his cheek, cutting a laceration so fine he didn’t doubt its keenness.

The pain was short and sharp, the stink of burnt hair filling his nostrils. The blade sunk into the ground beneath him, scorching the flagstones. It vanished when she released the hilt, dissipating in wisps of smoke. Solas was fearful when Ellana lifted her knee from his chest. Her weight slight, though no less threatening when she glared at him in disdain.

“Your agents lied”.

She got to her feet, snorting when his eyes widened. She didn’t acknowledge his tears, or his guilt-ridden conscience. She bent her knees, intending to rise to her feet. She paused upon seeing a pale hand, its fingers long, clawed and calloused. Its owner regarded her with concern, hopeful that she’d prove open-minded.

“Would you be amenable to an exchange?” asked Fen’Harel.

Her eyes narrowed. “I’d never trust any offer you made”.

He paused, considering. “What if I were to release my prisoner?” He gestured to the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. “It is a reflection of Solas’ memory, with a few alterations to suit my needs. I have kept him here for the passed year, after your encounter with the Archon’s assassin”.

It was Solas’ turn to be angry. “You knew there was a bounty on her head?”

“Of course I knew”, replied Fen’Harel without remorse. “Who do you think saved her life? It was not you. The Anchor connects us, but it does not guarantee equality. So I chose to support the underdog in our tug-of-war”.

“To gain the upper-hand?”

“Our beloved is prettier than you are. It was simple aesthetics”.

“She will never love you”.

“How would you know? We might share a face, but we are nothing alike. I treasure those I love, I do not betray them. You occupy that pedestal by yourself. I might be ruthless, even bloodthirsty but I protect my own”.

It was then that Ellana understood. She’d recovered from mortal injuries, poisoning and even the Taint. Her life had hung by a thread often enough to worry the healers of Skyhold. Yet she’d awakened each time, adding a new scar to her collection. The Archon’s bounty had proven but another obstacle of many.

“It was you”, she declared, catching his clawed hand. She allowed Fen’Harel to help her up, feeling the wiry strength in his arm. “The dreams about Solas’ intentions for Seheron, Par Vollen and Rivain. You warned me so I’d go to Kont-aar. A Karasten and his Karataam were waiting for me when I arrived”.

“Thereby”, he replied. “Inviting you to join them in Par Vollen”.

“It wasn’t an invitation. The Karasten told me: ‘You will come to Qunandar’. Then he walked away. You don’t refuse to go with a platoon of burly grey-skinned giants. I was escorted into the city, gagged, cuffed and blindfolded”.

“How delightful”.

Ellana gave his knuckles a crushing squeeze. “Arse”.

Fen’Harel smirked. “It worked out in the end”.

“No thanks to your meddling”.

* * *

They came to an agreement in the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It was tenuous, but fair though Ellana’s conditions were stringent. Fen’Harel was satisfied, though Solas' opinion hadn’t been taken into account. He refused to accept that all was said and done. His well-being was at stake if they abandoned him.

“You cannot do this without my consent!”

Ellana dismissed his complaint with a flap of her hand. “It’s happening. You can whine all you like. I’m not stupid enough to let you remember what happened down here. You’ll find a way to use it against me later, so Fen'Harel will wipe your memory”.

“You have no right! It is my mind!”

“So what if you won't recall the last eleven months? You were asleep for it all anyway”. She jabbed a finger at the spirit that bound them together. “You’ll get to wake up without any complications. I’ll be stuck with that conceited arse”.

Fen'Harel pursed his lips, blowing her a kiss. “Such sweet nothings. I can see how much you love me. Do not worry, darling. We will be together soon”.

She grimaced, revolted by his teasing. “Stop flirting and make yourself useful. Dispel the barrier before I change my mind”.

“As my lady commands”.

"Nae!" hissed Solas. "I forbid it!"

Fen’Harel raised a clawed hand, flicking his fingers in a gesture of dismissal. There was a thunderous crack, then the sound of air sucked through a funnel. The world went dark as if the sun had gone out. All was quiet until soft breaths were heard in the stillness. Light returned, dim at first in shades of grey.

A voice called in the darkness, soft as a feather and filled with concern.

“Ma falon?”

Solas knew the speaker, their baritone undeniably masculine. “Abelas?” He squinted in the brightness, nostrils flaring. He smelt the phantom burn of veilfire, saw the glow of emerald flames on stone. He was uncertain when something was pressed to his lips. It was cool, round and tasted of nothing until he sipped.

Moisture flooded his mouth, chilled and refreshing.

It was cold tea, made from water steeped in herbs. He guessed elfroot and embrium by the taste, with a touch of honey to sweeten. It was awful, but his mouth was dry and his throat parched. He drank it down, grimacing as if he’d swallowed a lemon. His stomach gurgled in protest, the liquid rushing back up his throat.

“Nae”. A hand closed over his mouth, fingers clamping tight. “I know you hate tea, da’len. I know how foul it tastes, but you must swallow. The medicine will help with the nausea”.

He groaned, struggling feebly.

“Swallow”.

He tasted the acrid bile on the back of his tongue. The acidic burn singeing his taste buds. Some of it slipped passed his lips to dribble down his chin. He swallowed the rest, forcing it down. He sighed after, exhausted in mind and body.

“Ma serannas”.

He was eased downwards, till the blades of his shoulders touched softness. He sank into it with gratitude, though his body felt heavy and sluggish. He blinked, brows furrowing beneath locks slick with sweat. The light was still too bright. He squinted, turning his face away in discomfort.

“Extinguish the torches, but leave the candles burning”.

Moments passed in a rush of sound.

He heard hurried footsteps, the sizzling burst of veilfire snuffed out. The light lessened through the veil of his lids, from blinding to a bearable warmth. He blinked, lashes fluttering. He opened his eyes, pupils dilating in the dim. His head felt heavy, his mouth full of cotton.

He saw someone, their features bleary till his vision cleared.

A friend sat beside him, their face drawn with fatigue. The craggy lines across their forehead aged them by several years. Their eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. The tears long dried, though they were still worried. They looked him over, relieved to find him hale if weary.

“Abelas”.

The sentinel smiled for the first time in weeks. “You are awake”.

“Was I asleep?” croaked Solas in bewilderment, voice hoarse. “I do not remember”.

He didn’t feel rested, but tired down to his bones. The ache in his limbs, was genuine rather than imagined. It was draining to flex his fingers, even to curl his toes beneath his blankets. He was in bed judging from the coverlet tucked under his chin. The navy dark enough to be soothing on his eyes.

“You were”, replied Abelas. “Now you are not. I am glad”.

Solas was wary when his face softened. There was joy when he smiled with a flash of white teeth. His relief palpable when he exhaled a weary breath. He leaned inwards, lips pursing. Abelas’ shadow fell across his face, though the kiss didn’t go where he expected.

It was pressed to his forehead instead of his mouth.

It was hot, moist and tender enough to bring tears to his eyes. Solas trembled when Abelas withdrew. His friend had expressed his love with the subtlest of gestures. The leader of Mythal’s sentinels held him in the highest esteem. Yet Solas was afraid when Abelas cupped his cheek.

“You should eat then rest. I will send a healer to bring food”.

The bed creaked, the mattress shifting. Solas grabbed his forearm, fingers bone-white. His nails dug in like claws. He hung on with a fearful desperation. Abelas patted Solas knuckles in reassurance, understanding what he needed.

“Ma nuvenin”.

Solas relaxed when he sank back onto the mattress. He held Abelas’ wrist, refusing to let go. He barely heard the background chatter, the muffled footsteps on the floor. He basked in Abelas’ attention, grateful that someone cared about him. He didn’t notice the third person in the room, until they snapped at their principle healer.

“I’m fine! Stop fussing!”

“You’ve been asleep for seven days!” snarled Loranil. “You haven’t drunk or eaten anything in a week! You’re not fine! You’re exhausted, hungry and thirsty! So stop trying to get out of that chair!”

Solas’ eyes widened in alarm. He gaped at Abelas, the grip on his hand near bruising. He turned his head, gazing into the room beyond. A woman lounged in an armchair with gold tassels. She looked familiar, though he didn’t recognise the mane of silver hair.

He thought her a stranger until she shoved Loranil.

The healer threw his hands into the air, cursing in frustration. He glowered at his reluctant patient, furious that she was being uncooperative. He jumped back when she took a second swipe at him. The blow went wide, missing him by inches. The distance between them, allowed Solas to see her face.

To notice the candlelight glinting off the green of her irises.

“Vhenan”.

Ellana ceased to argue with Loranil as her focus shifted. She looked down her nose at Solas, her disdain for him unmistakable. The moment seemed to last an eternity, till he turned away like a coward. Ellana’s lip curled in distaste. It was a hollow victory.

She addressed Abelas, certain of her success.

“I’ve done what you asked”.

The sentinel glanced at Loranil, seeking his expertise. He understood when the healer shook his head. Ellana was in no condition to leave the fortress. She might’ve slept for a week, but she hadn’t drunk or eaten in days. She’d regain her strength faster than Solas, but she still needed a place to rest and recover.

“You are in no fit state to travel”.

“I’m not staying here!”

Abelas was tired of her attitude. He hadn’t slept more than a handful of hours in the last seven days. Too worried to let himself rest, lest he lose them both. He’d loved Solas for decades, the affection warm and familiar. Yet his attraction to Ellana was new, exciting and unexpected.

He surprised himself (and Solas) when he refused to let her go.

“Fine!” he barked like an irate mabari. “But you are not leaving this fortress until you have recovered from your ordeal! Do you understand, Ellana Lavellan? I will not allow you to traipse into the unknown half-dead! You will have to endure our hospitality awhile longer!”

He braced himself, expecting her to argue.

Ellana didn’t protest, but she did hiss like an irritable feline. “Fine. But find me somewhere else to convalesce. I’d rather not have to share breathing space with a man I despise. If you don’t mind having an invalid over, than I’ll bed down with you”.

Abelas blushed to the tips of his pointed ears. “You want to do what?”

She groaned, rolling her eyes. “I’d share your living quarters not hump your leg! Maker’s balls! Get your brain out of the gutter! I’m sure Loranil can dig up a spare cot for me from somewhere!”

Even Solas was cherry-cheeked, his grey eyes wide with incredulity. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Abelas was unaware of it, though to him it was plain. The weariness upon his face, tinged with concern and exasperation meant one thing. He was fascinated by Ellana, though he’d yet to decide if that was a passing infatuation or something more.

And for the first time in centuries, Solas felt a twinge of jealousy.


End file.
